


Call of Duty

by starpilotsix



Category: Sliders (TV)
Genre: Actually Written In 1997, Gen, Missing the Slide, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-25 01:55:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 38,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30081720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starpilotsix/pseuds/starpilotsix
Summary: The Sliders arrive on a world where they're mistaken for invaders... for this world is already at war with another Earth. However, most people on both sides believe that only one alternate universe exists, and so the Sliders must both convince them otherwise and find a way to help a world that's about to be overrun.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was looking through my old hard drive to find the oldest files I had preserved across computers. In the process I ran across some old fanfics I wrote (which were still newer than the oldest files by several years), and, doing a quick search found that some or all of them didn't seem to exist anymore on the Internet, so I figured I'd upload some, for archival purposes so that if I ever lose my streak of file recovery it exists somewhere for me to potentially find in the distant future, or, perhaps, for others to enjoy.
> 
> Don't expect much quality from these, they were some of my first writing that I shared with a wide audience.
> 
> I have not edited these since I posted them. Depending on the length of the story, I may not have even read the whole thing again before posting, or only skimmed. I'm sure there are a few things that would make me cringe now (I mean, aside from the writing itself), just because I've learned better. One such thing I noticed immediately preparing this, was that I pointed out Rembrandt was black when I was describing everyone initially, but didn't think to point out anybody else's race. There's almost certainly more, not from malice but simply from ignorance. Given I've elected not to edit them, please understand they were written something like 25 years ago before I write this note. I beg your forgiveness in advance for any insensitive terms or problematic attitudes that may be on display (much as there were on the show itself!).
> 
> On another purely technical note, while I was writing these, I was adamant that Wade's last name was spelled Wells, with no extra E, based on how it was given originally in press releases, novel adaptation, and the show itself (if you're reading Sliders fanfic I probably don't have to tell you how inconsistent the show could be about pretty much everything). Later they settled firmly on the Welles spelling, but I held on to the earlier spelling for far too long. Frankly, I still think it looks better--I'm just way less uptight about it--but again, I decided not to edit this in any way from when I initially posted them... if it bothers you, assume it's a slightly different universe of sliders where that is the only change.
> 
> This story takes place somewhere near the end of the second season of Sliders and some of the theorizing about intricacies of the sliding process/slide window/etc were probably contradicted since it was written, but at the time, they were IMHO valid choices.

PROLOGUE  
San Francisco, CA, USA  
Wednesday, 10:34pm

The four stood on a sidewalk together, shivering only slightly from the crisp night air. "How long?" asked Wade Wells, a short-haired young woman, about twenty three years old and the only female among them.

The eldest of them, Professor Maximillian Arturo, a thickset man with a short black beard, who looked appropriately scholarly in his suit, was looking down at a device that resembled a TV remote control. The red digital display continued counting down the seconds as he said, "Just over two minutes."

Rembrandt Brown, a black man with a neat mustache, wearing a black leather jacket, glanced at the others. "Well, it wasn't that bad a slide. Wasn't home, but it was close, and certainly better than a lot of the worlds we've been to."

There were always mixed feelings about reaching a world that was so close to their own. Often they were left with a good feeling, that it was at least a good slide, where nothing went wrong, and they could almost forget about their problems for a while. Just as often, they felt let down, that they had come so close, felt so confident, only to find a sudden difference in the history to prove they weren't home.

In this case, one change was that Professor Arturo apparently was never born. Another was that the Gulf War never took place. Unfortunately, they only found this out after Quinn and Wade had an emotional reunion with the families of their counterparts, who were apparently also lost while Sliding. Breaking the news to them about having to leave was the most difficult part of the Slide.

Arturo made a face. "Yes, well, that's easy for you to say, you didn't have to suffer the indignity of being a lab assistant to an incompetent. The things I could have told him..."

"So why didn't you?" Quinn Mallory, a young man only a few years older than Wade, asked with a smirk. He wore a blue windbreaker over a sweater, and a pair of jeans.

He gave Quinn a look of incredulity. "Are you joking, Mr. Mallory? No. If I tried, I doubt he'd have understood anything I tried to teach him. Even if he did, he would take all the credit and it would give him far more credibility than he deserves."

Wade smiled, opening her purse to look at the money inside. "Still, with the jobs we took, we managed to make some cash that we  
can use on the next world. If they use American money, that is."

They said nothing more until the final seconds on the timer ticked away. The professor aimed it at the ground and pressed a button. Almost immediately a swirling bluish vortex grew from the ground. He gestured at it with his hand. "Well, here's hoping that if the next world isn't home, we at least get through it smoothly."

Rembrandt nodded to the others as he stepped off into the vortex, vanishing immediately. Wade went next, then Quinn, and finally the professor. The gate closed behind them. It left no trace of ever having been there in the first place.

\-------

CHAPTER ONE  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Wednesday, 10:38pm

On the same street, indeed at almost the same spot, in another world's San Francisco, a similar vortex appeared in the air. The four  
sliders were deposited on to the ground, each instinctively rolling out of the way so the next one through wouldn't land on them. Professor Arturo landed last. He turned to look up as the gate began to fold in on itself, trying to ignore the growing pain in his back. As Quinn helped him to his feet, he checked the timer.

"Two days and just under two hours until we can slide," Arturo announced as he pocketed it, "We'd better try and find a place to stay. We should go see if they have a Dominion Hotel on Hubbard St."

Though the street was empty as they walked, they did not go unnoticed. From the top of a building a man watched them through binoculars. He wore all black clothing, and had charcoal smeared on his face. He laid his rifle down and grabbed at the phone on his waist. There was no need to dial, he was already connected to his superiors.

He whispered harshly, "Spotter Patriot reporting in."

The calm, almost mechanical voice on the other line said, "Receiving you, Patriot. Report?"

"We have a confirmed incursion. Sector Omega-Delta-Three."

The voice asked, now somewhat less calm, "Shock troops?"

"Negative. There are only four of them, and they appear to be unarmed. Send a patrol group. If we're lucky, we might be able to capture them alive."

"Affirmative. Dispatch out, report back if they change position."

\-------

Hubbard Street  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Wednesday, 10:43pm

Less than five minutes later, the group of sliders reached the place where, in many of the worlds they had visited, there was a hotel. In this particular world, however, it was a factory of some sort. They turned, sighing, back on to the street. It was at that moment that men and women wearing black military fatigues swarmed out from all directions. All had rifles pointed at the stunned group.

Rembrandt whispered, "Great. What'd we do this time?"

Wade shrugged. "For all we know about this world, we could just be defying curfew," she whispered back.

One of the men pointing a rifle at them stepped forward. "No talking! Put your hands up and surrender! We have you surrounded."

One by one, the group slowly raised their hands. From their sides soliders broke off to frisk them against the factory wall.

As one man grabbed Wade's purse, the woman frisking Arturo pulled out the timer. "This might be it!" She fell back and handed it to the apparent leader of the soldiers.

The leader nodded, and muttered, "Maybe it's a new model." He then pointed and yelled out, "All right, put your hands at the back of your heads, and get moving!"

Professor Arturo complied, but also said, "Do you mind telling us what we're being charged with?"

The leader's eyes flared with anger. "I said SHUT UP, slime. You're not being charged with anything! You're prisoners of war."

They were rudely shackled, hands and feet, and then walked at gunpoint for about a block and a half, where they entered a van. From there, it was impossible for the group to judge where they were headed, as they were unable to see anything but the dingy illuminated back of the van.

Surprisingly, they were left alone together in the back of the van, and after a few moments Rembrandt ventured, "Maybe there's a civil war going on, and we passed into enemy territory..."

Quinn shook his head. "They took the timer, they knew exactly what they were looking for."

Wade looked about worriedly. "So what do we do now?"

Professor Arturo sighed. "There's not much we can do right now, Miss Wells. If we don't get the timer back in another two days, we're stuck on this world for a very, very long time."


	2. Chapter 2

County Jail  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Thursday, 9:00am

Each of them was awakened in the same way at almost the same time. A bucket of ice cold water was dumped on each of them, and they woke with a start, glancing around. They were together, at least, that was something, although they were each in individual cells, separated by strong iron bars. They were in what appeared to be a county jail, of all things, Quinn had seen that while they were being walked in the night before. Though none of them felt like it, they managed to fall asleep soon after they arrived.

Now, drenched and shivering, they were all quite awake. Outside of their cells stood an imposing figure in a military uniform. "My name is Sergeant Morgan. I am here to interrogate you. If you co-operate, you may live in a containment camp. If you do not, you will be executed. Do you have anything you wish to say before I begin?" He spoke in a clear, matter-of-fact manner, that reminded Rembrandt of a flight attendant explaining what will happen in case something goes wrong during the flight.

"We're not soldiers!" Quinn said angrily as he pulled himself into a sitting position.

"Apparently not, which brings us to my first question. What was your mission?"

Rembrandt stood up approaching the bars. Sergeant Morgan's two guards raised their rifles at him as he did so, and he backed off slightly. "He just told you we're not soldiers!" he said, with some exasperation.

"That doesn't answer my question, does it? What was your mission? Are you here to scout out targets? Or is your mission replacement? I want to know all the particulars."

He watched their blank looks towards one another, and decided that they were probably trying to decide which answer would get them better treatment.

When they didn't say anything, he sighed. "All right, let's start at the beginning. You did come from the other Earth." It was more of a statement than a question.

They all noticed his use of the word 'the', but said nothing about it. The sergeant was beginning to get visibly angry. "You were seen coming through the portal! Don't deny it!"

Professor Arturo was now seated on his cot, rubbing his eye and sighing. "We came here through a portal, but..."

Wade suddenly cut him off. She continued excitedly, "but we're from this world!"

Sergeant Morgan glanced at Wade sharply. His face took on a skeptical look. "What?"

She nodded. "We were P.O.W.s on the other world. They captured us early in the war, for information. We managed to escape, to get back here."

All eyes were on her, including those of her friends. Rembrandt was the first to chime in, "Yeah, she's right. We were just never given a chance to tell you."

Sergeant Morgan stood silently for a moment, finally speaking with a sarcastic tone. "Well, it's a very nice story. Unfortunately, I can't just take your word for it."

At that moment, a shrill, whining siren rang out through the jail. Sergeant Morgan grabbed the phone at his waist, and spoke into it. "Incursion?" He nodded, face going grim as he listened to what the voice on the other end of the line reported. Without another word, the sergeant walked out of the room with all but one of his guards. That guard only watched them as if they were some kind of bug. Wade thought he looked familiar, but couldn't place it.

"Well, it was a valiant effort, Miss Wells," Arturo said finally.

"I was thinking of telling him we were all defectors, myself, but there's no way he'd buy that now," Quinn added, followed by a sigh.

Rembrandt rubbed at his stomach, noticing not for the first time this day that he was quite hungry. If I'm hungry, he thought, the Professor must be starving. He glanced momentarily at the Professor who again sat down on the cot, then rapped on the bars with his knuckles to get the guard's attention. "Hey... you going to be feeding us any time soon?" The guard just stared at him, which made him even more irritated. "Come on, I'm starving! Haven't you guys ever heard of the Geneva convention?"

This brought a angry sneer to the guard. "You're one to talk, after all the atrocities your world has committed!"

Arturo sighed heavily. "Look, as hard as it may be for you to believe, we know nothing of this war. Anything you could tell us would be helpful."

"Yeah, right," the guard said, obviously not believing anything they said.

Quinn broke in. "Humor us. How did this war start?"

The soldier paused, apparently considering if there could be any harm done by telling them what most likely they already knew. "Two years ago, I was working in my store..." he began. Wade cut him off with a sudden realization.

"Hurley! I knew I knew you from somewhere!"

Quinn looked again at the startled guard, suddenly recognizing him as well. "Oh my god, it IS him." He looked quite different from the boss Quinn and Wade both thought was a jerk. His hair was not only cut short in a military-style crewcut, but it was dyed black, and he didn't wear glasses. That, combined with the fact that this Hurley had a far less scrawny build than his counterpart on their earth, made it more than a little difficult to recognize him at first glance.

He suddenly looked just a little unsure of himself. "How- How do you know my name?"

"You ran Doppler Computer Superstore?" Wade asked.

"Yeah... how did you know?"

"Quinn and I used to work for you."

"I don't remember you."

"Maybe you should tell them the truth," Rembrandt suggested, "Even if they don't believe us, it's our only shot."

"I agree," Quinn said, nodding.

Hurley tapped his foot impatiently. "I'm waiting."

Arturo waited for a moment to see if someone else was going to speak. When none of the others did, he explained, "We are from a different Earth, but not the Earth you're at war with."

Of all the things Michael Hurley had expected them to say, this was not one of them. "That's not possible. There is only one other Earth out there. Our best scientists agree." He stepped back.

"I could demonstrate the math involved if they would speak to me. There are perhaps an infinite number of alternate Earths, each with a unique history."

"The professor's right," Quinn added. "On our world, you're still manager of the computer shop, and we're not at war with anyone."

"Well, at least we weren't when we left. A lot can happen in a year," Wade reminded them. Though they rarely spoke of it, all of them feared that they might end up being away from home so long that they wouldn't recognize it if they found it.

"So, how did the war start, anyway?" Rembrandt asked after an awkward silence.

"Well, as I was saying, I was working when I heard on the radio that Europe was being invaded by people coming out of portals. They were killing everyone they found. At first, they started blaming us, because the troops spoke English. From what we hear, we came only inches away from them launching all their weapons at us. The next day, we heard the same thing about Washington. The President was killed, and by this time we'd lost contact with pretty much the entire world outside of the U.N.A.C."

Arturo interrupted Hurley. "U.N.A.C.?" he asked, confused.

"United North America Coalition," he explained in the manner one would to a child, before continuing. "When the Shock Troops started appearing in SanFran, we were already ready. We elected a new President, and we've been repelling incursions under his leadership ever since."

Quinn had the sinking feeling that it was one of his doubles who had started the war. It always disturbed him when he found a double who had taken an undesirable path in life. He asked, "Do you know why they started invading?"

Hurley turned towards Quinn. "From what we've been able to gather from other captives, the other Earth is extremely overpopulated and they're running out of resources. But that could just be part of a disinformation campaign."

Man, these people ARE paranoid, thought Rembrandt. "And I'm still hungry," he muttered, almost not noticing that he said it aloud.

Despite the lowness of his voice, Hurley must have heard Rembrandt, for after considering for a moment he said, "I'll see if I can arrange something for you to eat." He stepped out of the room, getting a guard outside to take his place.

After he had gone, Wade said with some amount of surprise, "He actually seems like a decent guy on this world."

"We shall see, Miss Wells. However, I too, am hungry, so I'll reserve judgement on his character until we are brought a decent meal," Arturo said.


	3. Chapter 3

County Jail  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Thursday, 11:35am

They heard Sergeant Morgan return long before he entered the room. He was yelling at Hurley down the hallway, "I can't afford to trust your gut, Private, and if you're going to be treating every P.O.W. we get like visiting royalty, I'll transfer you and your gut back to Ammunition detail!"

Burnt toast with jam and water was hardly what the group would consider the royal treatment, but they didn't complain. As soon as Hurley opened the door for the sergeant, the guard watching them stiffened and saluted. "How did the repulsion go, sir?"

Sergeant Morgan nodded disinterestedly as he eyed the group. "Good, good. President Kelley single-handily took out an entire unit."

Rembrandt sat up suddenly. "President Kelley? Not Ross J. Kelley?" He asked. When the sergeant nodded, he asked, "His campaign slogan wasn't 'I'm Ross J. Kelley, and I'll fight for you!' by any chance, was it?"

"It was I'll fight WITH you," Sergeant Morgan answered. As Rembrandt chuckled to himself and the others smirked, he continued. "That's exactly what he's been doing, throughout this war. He's a great man. Good to see your spy network has its share of mistakes."

"We don't have a spy network!" Quinn protested. "On our world, he was a lawyer and that was his slogan when he advertised on TV."

Sergeant Morgan nodded, taking on a sarcastic tone of voice again. "Ah yes, YOUR world. Private Hurley has been telling me all about this world you've now suddenly decided you're from." Everyone could detect a slight note of contempt when he said Hurley's name. "I don't suppose you have any proof, do you?" His tone made it clear he expected none.

Arturo looked about uncomfortably, "We could describe the mathematical proof that other worlds exist." Sergeant Morgan shook his head.

Wade spoke, suddenly remembering. "Wait! My journal! I started keeping a journal a while back about the worlds we've been visiting. It's in my purse, which your goons confiscated. That should prove we're telling the truth."

Sergeant Morgan ordered one of his guards to fetch the purse. He returned a few minutes later and handed it to the sergeant. After sifting through its contents he pulled out a small, diary sized book. "That's it," Wade told him.

This still could have been prepared in advance, he thought as he began reading silently from the first page and pacing up and down the hall. Over the next few minutes, the incessant pacing got quite aggravating. He stopped suddenly, and looked up from the journal. "Which one of you is Rembrandt Brown?" he asked.

"That's me," Rembrandt volunteered immediately.

The sergeant walked in front of his cell.

"Sing."

Rembrandt was taken aback. "Excuse me?"

"It says here you're quite the singer. I want you to sing something for me. Any problems with that?"

Rembrandt shook his head as possible songs to sing started going through his head. He suspected that the sergeant wasn't the type who would appreciate "Cry Like A Man", "Tears In My 'Fro" or even "Explosion of Love", so, coughing once to clear his throat, he began to sing the national anthem. His voice rang out smoothly and clearly, which even surprised himself a little considering the treatment he had received since arriving in this world.

Once Rembrandt had finished, the sergeant nodded, apparently satisfied. "Not bad. What was that?"

"The national anthem," Rembrandt said, surprised he didn't recognize it.

"Not here." The sergeant looked back to the journal. "If you're Rembrandt Brown," he began, and then moved to the other end of the hall to Wade's cell. He glanced at the front of the journal for confirmation, then continued, "And you're Wade Wells..." He walked to a point between the cells of Quinn and Professor Arturo. "Then one of you must be the Professor, and the other one is Quinn." He looked at Arturo. "I'm guessing you're the Professor."

"Professor Maximillian Arturo," he said, bowing his head slightly.

Sergeant Morgan walked over to face Quinn. "So, you're Quinn. You're the one who invented the device that brought you here?"

Quinn nodded. The sergeant reached for a ring of keys on his belt, and unlocked the door. "Then you're the one who's going to turn the tide of this war."


	4. Chapter 4

San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Thursday, 2:15pm

Although the group had been released from the jail, they still did not have their freedom. Two guards were assigned to follow them wherever they went, both with orders to shoot if they tried to escape. One of the guards was Hurley. The other, a young dark-haired man, they had never heard referred to by name.

In the afternoon, the streets of San Francisco had only barely more people than at night. There was a palpable tension in the air, with everyone rushing down the sidewalks and across the streets as if trying to make sure they weren't caught outside. Most of the people they saw had rifles or even assault weapons slung around one shoulder, but the group had the feeling that everyone was carrying some type of weapon. It reminded them of that world where society appeared to have fallen apart, and violence was the norm.

The previous night had also hidden a lot of damage to the city's buildings. Most had, at the very least, bullet holes, there were a few that had large visible cracks to the outer wall, and many that appeared to be actually crumbling. Some sort of substance, possibly soot, left ugly black stains on almost everything.

"It really is a warzone out here," Wade muttered softly to herself as she looked out the back window. Aside from the beat up grey minivan they rode in now, there were no vehicles on the street.

Wade's attention drifted as she heard Quinn and the professor engaged in a whispered argument over something. She suspected Professor Arturo was trying to explain the inherent dangers of giving the sliding technology to this world, even if it was only needed to fight back against another world attacking them, and she didn't care to listen. As much as she hated war and violence, in her view, these people deserved at least a fighting chance, and they couldn't just repel incursions forever.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Rembrandt's exclamation, "Oh my Lord, will you look at that?" Even Quinn and Arturo stopped their arguing to look. From where they were, they could see the Golden Gate Bridge from the windows. Or, rather, they could see where the bridge had once been. Although the supports still peeked out of the waters, the bridge itself was destroyed. "What happened to the bridge?"

Hurley glanced over. "Hmm? Oh... it was a frequent incursion flashpoint. We were forced to destroy it. The enemy's getting a bit smarter, though, the flashpoints are a lot more random nowadays."

The van pulled up to a small, unassuming grey building. Hurley jumped out and pulled the sliding door open for the others. His gun was trained on them, though he didn't look too concerned about them, as he walked them into the building and down a simple staircase.

The lights on the level below were harsh and bright, a sharp contrast from the cloudy outside and the dismal jail lights, and gave the entire complex the feel of a hospital.

They maneuvered through the maze of hallways until they reached a specific door, which looked no different from any of the other doors they passed. Hurley opened it for them. In the lab, it was quite busy, with scientists scurrying in every direction, closely examining pieces of technology and hi-tech looking weapons.

Hurley's eyes fell over the people in the room, looking for someone. Finally, he called out, "Doctor Stillwell?"

From an office in the back corner, another man in a lab coat walked out, glancing at a clipboard. He had slicked back black hair and glasses. He glanced up at Hurley, saying with a trace of annoyance, "Yes, what is it?"

Hurley stepped forward, followed by the group. He motioned to Quinn and Arturo, in turn. "This is Quinn Mallory, and Professor Arturo. They're going to be joining your work."

Doctor Stillwell's eyes showed surprise, but it was quickly replaced with anger. "I've never heard of them. On who's authority are you..."

"On Sergeant Morgan's authority." Hurley handed Stillwell a sheet of paper, signed by the sergeant. "This Quinn Mallory has invented technology that makes a link between worlds. The sergeant wants him to do it for us."

"You must be joking! You want me to give up control of my project to someone who worked for the enemy!?"

"You're not being asked to give up control, they'll be under your direct supervision. As to working for the enemy... well, let them explain where they came from."

Hurley turned his back on Stillwell, and said to Wade and Rembrandt, "If you two will follow me, I can take you somewhere quiet where you can rest, maybe get a change of clothing, until your friends are done for the day."

Wade glanced to Quinn for a moment. She never felt good when splitting up, especially in a world like this. Quinn just smiled and said, "We'll be okay, just go on."

They left the room as Quinn began explaining his theory of Sliding.

\-------

Dr. Stillwell's Office, Underground Lab  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Thursday, 4:10pm

Stillwell closed and locked the door with a sigh. As he sat down at his desk and thought about the last hour or two, his hands began to shake. It's all falling apart, he thought, they're bringing us too close. Trying desperately to keep his hands still, he pulled open a drawer in his desk, and reached into the very back to retrieve a small black box, about the size of a paperback. There was a small keypad on one side, below a digital readout and a small dial. He pressed one button, and recorded a message in hushed tones. When he was finished, he tapped four numbers on the keypad, one, five, zero, zero, and turned the dial slowly. A tiny vortex appeared on his desk, just barely the size of a basketball. He pushed the box inside and it closed. For the next several minute he waited uncomfortably.

\-------

Command Control Tower Alpha  
San Francisco Citystate, New Empire  
Thursday, 4:15pm

"Sir, we're receiving a coded transmission from the other side. It's Doctor Stillwell, shall I patch it through?" came a voice from one of the consoles.

Commander William King looked up, his eyes, intense and probing, briefly trying to determine who gave him the information. Everyone but him was seated at a console in the circular room, watching over the war effort to the best of their ability. He was seated too, but in the center, and was able to overlook everyone. His face was tight and stern, giving the impression that he rarely smiled, and making him look quite a bit older than he was.

In this room, he could get updates from all of the centurions in the city the moment they were able to report back, or reports from any of the spies they had carefully placed. It was unfortunate that the centurions were not faring well in the battles. He knew his people needed the land and resources out there, and the repeated failures to take the otherworld's counterpart to his district was not looking good on his record.

Perhaps, just perhaps, the commander thought to himself, this will be good news. "Do it," he ordered.

The voice came though a moment later, most of the others in the room stopping to listen. "This is Stillwell, we've just received some disturbing news down here. Our research lab was just given two new scientists. One of them is Quinn Mallory."

Upon hearing the name, every person in the room stopped what they were doing and listened. The voice continued, not even giving a pause to let the meaning sink in, "He's told them he invented the Sliding mechanism, and he's going to help develop it for them. Please advise. Please advise."

The voice had finished, and Commander King shook his head. "That was what I never wanted to hear. How long until the message relay returns to the other side?"

"Ten minutes, sir," said the same person who had alerted him to the message.

"Record reply and send. 'Do everything in your power to see the other side does not develop Sliding technology. We'd prefer it not come to this, but if you have to, execute the traitor and return home. Stand by for further orders.'" Commander King sighed. "I'll be in my office if you need me.


	5. Chapter 5

Underground Barracks  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Thursday, 6:15pm

Wade lay in bed, leafing through an old TIME magazine, dated before the war. Except for a few differences, it was similar to her world's version of the magazine. Hurley had brought it, along with some others, when she and Rembrandt requested something to read while they waited for Quinn and Arturo to return from the lab.

Rembrandt read the only up-to-date periodical they had, a weekly 10-page newspaper, published in San Francisco, called The Front. It concerned itself mainly with reports of battles fought and profiles of officers who had performed above and beyond the call of duty, but also contained other general news about the city. According to the paper, they averaged about one incursion a day, and so far they had been able to repel all of them, with 'only minor casualties'. Rembrandt suspected that was probably mostly propaganda.

The door opened, and in walked Quinn and Arturo. Hurley and the other soldier remained outside, guarding the door, although they were going to be relieved for the night soon. Quinn slumped down face first on an empty bed.

"How'd it go, Q-Ball?" Rembrandt asked.

Quinn turned his head slightly so he could see Rembrandt. His eyes looked strained and tired. "I spent the first two hours trying to convince these people that most of what they thought they knew about sliding has been wrong all along. I don't even think the other scientists believe I know what I'm talking about, with some of the looks they gave me."

He'd seen looks like that before, looks that said, 'This kid's less than half my age, has nowhere near as much education or practical experience as me, and he thinks he knows something I don't?' Many adults, especially his teachers, had given those looks to him. Even Professor Arturo had, before they started sliding together. It had been frustrating, especially with the admiration Quinn had for him.

"After that, I started looking at the technology they had in there. They've got piles of devices like the timer that they recovered after battles. They're similar in design to the timer, but for some reason I can't figure out, none of them seem to work."

Arturo said, slowly, "It's probably just as well. We don't have the right..."

Quinn cut him off, his annoyance clear in his voice. "Oh, don't start that again, Professor!" He pushed himself into a sitting position. "If you feel so strongly about not giving them sliding technology, why were you even helping?"

"Because, Mr. Mallory, I was looking for our timer. In case you had forgotten, we slide in a little over a day, but only if we can find the timer. Considering how valuable you've just become to them, I doubt they're going to just hand it over if we ask. I'm hoping they have it somewhere in the lab, and I can sneak it out."

He sighed, and began to shake a finger at Quinn as he continued. "I wish you would not take such a cavalier attitude about giving them this technology. It's akin to giving Japan the atom bomb right after the bombing of Hiroshima."

"That's not true any you know it Professor," Wade said, "These people had absolutely no contact with this other world before THEY started invading."

"What if it was OUR world, Professor? What if we were home, and another world was beginning to invade? Would you want me to keep my knowledge of sliding secret then?" Quinn asked.

"That would be different, Mr. Mallory," Arturo said, quite softly.

"No, it isn't. Out of the infinite possible worlds the other world could have invaded, they happened upon this one. It could have just as easily been ours. Just because we're not natives here doesn't lessen our responsibility!" Quinn felt like he was almost shouting, but when he finished speaking the room was very quiet.

Rembrandt broke the silence. "Listen, it doesn't matter to me much whether we give these people the technology or not, I just want to make sure we slide out of here."

No one else spoke for quite some time, though several times it looked as though Arturo might. Finally, he moved over to the table with the magazines, grabbed one, and sat down without a word, reading.

\-------

Dr. Stillwell's Office, Underground Lab  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Thursday, 6:20pm

Doctor Lyle Stillwell paced his small office anxiously. See that they don't develop the technology indeed, he thought, let's see THEM try to do that when its inventor is on the job. He pulled open one of the bottom drawers in his desk to stare at the gun lying inside. Many of the other scientists still trusted their own research over the real thing, so Quinn probably would not get much help, but if he could fix the sliding device on his own, the results would be disastrous for him. I might have to return home sooner than expected, he thought.


	6. Chapter 6

Underground Laboratory  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Friday, 8:00am

Quinn sat at a workbench, staring at the inside of one of the other world's sliding devices. This one was attached to a wristband, apparently for easy access to it. He just couldn't see why it didn't seem to work.

Then again, he wasn't quite the expert on sliding the sergeant assumed. He invented it on his world, true, but when it came down to the finer points, such as aiming the device at a specific world, or even fixing their own timer so they wouldn't have to rely on a window of opportunity, he was still very inexperienced. This other world's sliding technology was far beyond anything he had seen any of his doubles create, with the possible exception of 'the Sorcerer'. Someone sat down beside him, and Quinn knew, without even looking, that it was Professor Arturo.

"Mind if I take a look at that, my boy?" Arturo asked.

Quinn looked up at Arturo's gravely serious face. "I thought you didn't want to help."

Arturo glanced about at the scientists, who were mostly ignoring them to pursue own work. Many of them had ignored everything the two had tried to teach them, and were simply following their own research, although a few were now working on new mathematical models based on the foundation that there were infinite earths.

He looked back at Quinn, and said, "I can't find the timer. I've looked everywhere in this blasted lab, it's not here. I asked the guard who has been watching over us to tell Sergeant Morgan I wanted to speak with him, and as much as I deplore the idea, the sliding technology may be the only bargaining chip we'll have." His face looked resigned. "So, I might as well help you reinvent it."

\-------

Underground Barracks  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Friday, 8:15am

Wade yawned as she gradually woke up and sat up from her bed. Wondering for only a moment where she was, she glanced about the room. Rembrandt sat on his bed, reading another magazine.

"Good morning, Rembrandt," she called out as she stretched. She had slept in her clothes, a growing habit since they began sliding from world to world. Another yawn escaped her.

Rembrandt smiled. "Good morning. Q-Ball and the Professor are already off to 'work', so I've just been reading more of these."

Wade nodded slightly. "Find anything interesting?" she asked, though she wasn't really paying attention to his answer.

"Not much. All of North America is one country on this world, or at least it was before their war started. One thing I can't figure out, though, is why all these so-called incursions seem to bring across is foot soldiers. No tanks, no heavy artillery, nothing but troops with guns. Not even heavy guns for that matter."

It took Wade a moment to catch on to what he was saying. "But it's not like they're not causing enough pain and suffering with just that... maybe they just never developed anything stronger."

Rembrandt shrugged. "I can't wait until we slide out of this world, though. We can't go anywhere without someone following us, and they won't let us do much besides read their old magazines."

"Maybe you can talk them into letting you give a concert for the troops." Rembrandt's eyes brightened and he smiled widely as Wade continued, "I get the feeling they haven't had much entertainment since the war started."

"Hey, that's not a bad idea, girl. Maybe I'll talk to that guy Hurley about it."

\-------

Underground Laboratory  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Friday, 9:30am

Sergeant Morgan strode into the lab, looking from side to side at everyone. As he spotted Quinn and Arturo on the other side of the lab and started to approach, Dr. Stillwell and one other scientist fell in step with him.

"Sergeant, it's good of you to come," began Dr. Stillwell, "I wanted to speak to you about the new additions to team." Sergeant Morgan stopped walking, waiting for Stillwell to continue. "Well, we don't know where you got them, but they're only distracting us from our work, with their off-the-wall theories. If anything, they're only here to stop us from making the necessary breakthrough," Stillwell argued.

"He's right, sir," the other scientist chimed in. "We've been co-operating as you ordered, but they've got nothing to offer. If we listen to them, we'll be starting from scratch, and we'll have wasted two years of research."

"Two years of research, and what have you come up with? Squat. Less than squat. I'd say you're the ones who wasted two years of research. It can't hurt to let them try, as long as they're well-supervised. If they're not who they say they are, it'll be revealed soon enough, and you can go back to sitting on your asses all day long, theorizing."

The sergeant drew a deep breath, and put a hand up to stop Dr. Stillwell from answering. "I'm going to talk to them now. You just sit tight and get back to work." He continued on his way to Arturo and Quinn. "Well, what have you come up with so far?"

Quinn fiddled with the inside of one of the devices as he answered, "I'm still working on it... I just can't figure out why these things don't work."

"I thought you said you invented the damn thing, what do you need to be looking at these for?" The sergeant asked angrily.

Quinn put down the tweezers he was holding, and turned his head towards Sergeant Morgan. "I did invent it, but I've never known how to target it. I might be able to invent another sliding machine, but unless I knew how these people targeted it, it would only open a gate into a random universe, which wouldn't be much help. If I can figure out why their devices don't seem to work, I might be able to fix it, so you can just tell it to open a portal for the return trip."

"Great," the sergeant grumbled. "If you don't have anything to report, why did you need to talk to me? I'm a busy man, I don't have time for idle chit-chat."

Arturo cleared his throat. "I asked for you to come. As you probably know from Miss Wells' journal, we only have a limited window of opportunity to leave a given world. If we miss it, we'll be stranded here for almost thirty years. We can't afford to wait that long."

"And?"

"And your military buffoons stole the device we need in order to slide out of here. Please, you seem like a reasonable man. Will you return it to us?"

Morgan gave a smirk. "Are you joking? In my opinion, you're still more likely spies than not. The only reason I'm not keeping you on an even shorter leash is on the off chance that you may be useful to us anyway."

Quinn started to stand up, but Arturo laid a hand on his shoulder. The professor said to Sergeant Morgan, "If you refuse to give us the timer, we will not assist you in your research. If you agree to return it, we'll work up until the minute we have to leave, if we have to."

"You can't bargain with me, I hold all the cards here. If you don't want to work, you can go right back to your cells. We can discuss returning your gizmo when we get a working portal, and not a second before." Sergeant Morgan turned and left.


	7. Chapter 7

Underground Rec Center  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Friday, 10:00am

"You want to put on a concert?" Hurley asked in disbelief. Wade and Rembrandt sat across from him on a couch in the simple rec center. Off in one corner, two men engaged in a light game of ping pong.

"Yes, that's right," Rembrandt said, grinning. "I mean, I'm a world famous singer on my Earth. You heard me in the jail yesterday morning."

Though Wade knew Rembrandt was hardly world famous, she had learned it was best not to contradict him when he claimed it, because far too often he believed it and wouldn't take the blow to his ego.

"But... why?" Hurley asked.

"I've always enjoyed singing to an appreciative audience. Wouldn't the troops here like a little entertainment? It certainly couldn't hurt morale around here."

Hurley looked unsure, but looked into Rembrandt's eager eyes and said, "Well, I don't know if the sergeant will go for it, but I'll ask him. Maybe we can set it up for you in a few days." Rembrandt and Wade gave each other a look, and Hurley noticed it. "What?"

"It'll have to be tonight," Rembrandt began.

Wade finished for him, "We may not be here in a few days."

Hurley shook his head slightly, "I don't understand... but if you're thinking of trying to escape..." he said, the warning tone in his voice making finishing his statement pointless.

"We're not going to," Wade said. It was a lie, but only a small one. They wouldn't try to escape, at least not until they had the timer and it was time to go. A twinge of doubt about getting the timer passed through her, but she suppressed it. They had been in worse situations before, and had gotten out of it. She trusted Quinn and Arturo to get the timer back. Wade explained to Hurley about the timer, the window of opportunity, and what would happen if they missed it.

"Sergeant Morgan's not going to give you your 'timer', as you call it," Hurley said when she finished. "He still thinks you're from the other world."

"What about you? What do you think?" Wade asked.

Hurley stared at Wade for quite some time. From his face, it was clear he feared what others might say if they overheard. Finally, he said, "I'm not sure, but I think you're telling the truth."

Rembrandt smiled, breathing a sigh of relief. "Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, but back to the subject of my concert. Do you think we might be able to get a good speaker system and a microphone?"

"I don't know if it'll be GOOD, but I think I can manage something."

"Okay, then just spread the word that there'll be a live concert by Rembrandt Brown tonight, at around nine, right here."

Rembrandt looked about the rec center. It was certainly no concert hall. Not enough room to have a very big concert at all, he thought, but since no one here's heard of me, I doubt there'll be any fans rioting when they can't get in. At least not until they hear my sweet voice from outside, he thought with a chuckle. He decided to ask Hurley later if there was a bigger place it could be held. "Or maybe not right here. But we'll still have to make sure the sound system's ready by then. You game?"

Hurley nodded slowly, and with just a slight tinge of enthusiasm said, "Okay, I'm game. Maybe it'll be fun."

\-------

Underground Laboratory  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Friday, 12:17pm

Wade opened the door to the lab and glanced about until she spotted Quinn and Arturo. Her 'shadow', another guard, followed her into the room, then waited at the door. Wade carried some shrunken unidentifiable sandwiches wrapped in plastic wrap over to the pair. "I brought you guys some food, in case you were too busy to stop by the mess," she said, dropping the sandwiches on the table beside them.

Quinn smiled up at Wade brightly. "Thanks!" He left the sandwich where it was, though, as he was busy tracing through the circuitry in one of the sliding devices they were working on.

"So how are things coming along?" she whispered, "Do you think we'll slide out of here?"

Quinn ignored the question at first, trying to look extremely busy. "Quinn!" she repeated impatiently.

Quinn sighed. "I don't know. Sergeant Morgan won't give us the timer unless we create a gateway to the other world... and I can't do that unless I can figure out what's wrong with these."

Once Quinn saw the look of disappointment cross Wade's face, he tried to smile reassuringly, although he didn't feel it. "But hey, we've been worse off, and have never missed a slide yet."

Wade mumbled something, something that could have been, "All it takes is once."

Arturo, after grabbing and beginning to unwrap one of the sandwiches, said, "Don't worry, Miss Wells. We'll work all night if we have to." On the last word, he took a large bite out of the sandwich.

"Where's Rembrandt?" Quinn asked.

"Oh. He's with Hurley, trying to set up a concert for the troops."

Quinn smiled at this. "Really? Hurley's going along with it?"

Wade nodded. "Yeah... but I think Rembrandt's starting to go overboard with it. You know how he is once he gets started," she said as she shook her head in amusement.

Quinn smirked. "Oh boy, do I know. Still, I can't believe Hurley's going along with it. Remember that one time back home he threw a fit when a musician set up shop outside the store?"

Again, Wade nodded. "I remember. No matter how much we tried to tell him it was probably actually good for business, he wouldn't listen. Called the police on the poor guy," she said. She remembered clearly Hurley's shouts at him, and then at her for supporting him.

She looked away for a moment, then back at Quinn, before continuing, "But that was a different Hurley. This one's... well, he's nowhere NEAR as much as of a jerk as any of the others we've met. He's really a pretty nice guy." She lowered her voice slightly, and continued, "If you can't get this working I might ask if he knows where our timer is being kept."

Arturo and Quinn turned their heads towards Wade in unison, stunned.

Arturo said first what was on both their minds. "You don't really expect him to betray his country... or his world, in actual fact, for us?"

Quinn nodded. "Yeah Wade, it's a longshot. I mean, you saw the way he seemed to suck up to every superior we passed on the way out of the jail. He's the same old Hurley. He'd probably go straight to them if you asked, and it would make us look bad."

Wade shook her head, saying, "I don't know. You've been stuck working in here, so you haven't been around him as much as me and Rembrandt have. I don't think he likes being in the army, it's just that, well, with the situation in this world, it's all he can do. Maybe if we offered him the chance to go with us, so he could start a new life on another world, he'd help us. I... I just have a good feeling about him." She shrugged.

Arturo frowned. "Taking other people along with us is never a good idea. We've done it too many times already, and we can't just casually drop people off on every world we slide into. It's not only ethically dubious, it may be unsafe for all of us."

Quinn nodded his agreement to the Professor, even though he didn't feel nearly as strongly about it as him, partly because he still had some negative feelings from the other Hurley's they'd known. In his mind, Quinn knew it was best to treat each double as a unique individual, but he always found it hard to like Hurley, in any form.

"I'm still going to offer, Professor," Wade persisted, "if it'll help get us to the next world... we've already seen that the bridge can handle more than just the four of us."

"Yes, *so far*," Arturo said with anger. "We shouldn't even be risking it!" Wade glared at him and walked out of the lab, her guard following close behind. Arturo watched her leave, then turned to Quinn. "That girl can be quite stubborn about these things."

Quinn smirked. "You just noticed? Besides, you're not really one to talk."

Arturo looked hurt. "Are you implying that I am stubborn?"

"Oh, not at all. You just... stand firm to your opinions."

"And there's nothing wrong with..." Arturo stopped as Quinn suddenly started intently looking at the device. He leaned over. "What is it? Have you found something?"

"I'm not sure..."


	8. Chapter 8

Dr. Stillwell's Office, Underground Lab  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Friday, 1:30pm

Dr. Stillwell frowned as he read a research report, presented by one of the younger scientists, explaining how he believed the many-universe idea proposed by Arturo was correct, and because of this, it might be possible to construct their own device instead of trying to reverse engineer the captured ones. They're already causing too much damage, he thought. It took him a few seconds to notice the knock at his door.

"Come in," he called out.

A young woman, her red hair tied up in a bun, poked her head through the door. "Excuse me, doctor. I hope I'm not interrupting, but the new guys, they think they have something."

Dr. Stillwell's heart began to race. They're too close, he thought, they must have found it. Trying to keep his voice steady, he replied, "All right. I'll be right out."

The woman's head vanished back behind the door, and Dr. Stillwell stood, sighing, his thoughts running wildly.

He walked out into the lab, where some of the other scientists were gathered about Quinn and Arturo. As he approached the group, bodies parted to let him pass into the center. "What is it you've found?"

"We think the reason these devices won't work, is because they're designed not to," Quinn said matter-of-factly.

"What?"

"These devices, are, we believe, not designed to get these troops back. It doesn't seem very likely they would need each device in order to get here, and yet they still carry them, despite the fact that they won't allow them to return." Arturo explained.

Dr. Stillwell feigned confusion. "But that doesn't make any sense. We've seen enemy troops retreating back into the same type of tunnel they came from."

"Yes, but you've also captured some of these enemy soldiers alive, have you not?" Many of the scientists nodded at Arturo's question. "Don't you think, if they had the ability to return, they would take it? It stands to reason that many, if not all of these devices are decoys."

Dr. Stillwell began to walk off. "This is pointless speculation, you don't know anything, you're just guessing, and what's more, you're wasting our valuable time!" he said in anger.

Arturo and Quinn exchanged looks. Quinn said, "There's more!" Dr. Stillwell stopped, but did not turn around.

He held up the device he had been most recently examining. "When I was examining this device, I realized that it was slightly different from the last one I examined. "The emitter, the part that actually makes the wormhole appear where you aim it, was configured differently." Dr. Stillwell turned, imperceptibly swallowing. "It wouldn't be able to complete a wormhole, the decay rate would be too fast, so the wormhole would collapse upon itself before it even appeared in this universe."

He smiled in a somewhat guilty sort of way, continuing, "I don't know why I didn't notice it earlier, but it seems to be set up so the device can't produce a stable tunnel. At least, not by itself."

One of the scientists asked, "So, you think there's some sort of secondary device we haven't located yet?"

Quinn felt good about his progress for the first time. The other scientists were not scoffing, not just dismissing out of hand anything they had to say. Most of them, with the exception of Dr. Stillwell and a few others, were actually listening, their attention rapt. "We think, in order to go back, they need to use more than one device, activated at the same time, and at the same spot. I'm not sure how many, it could be three, four, even five or six."

Somber, Arturo added, "And, to make matters more difficult, we think you have to use the exact units designed to work together. No more, no less. It's quite ingenious when you think about it; with the almost infinite number of combinations available, coupled with the fact that that this side didn't know much about sliding theory in the first place, virtually nullifies the chance that their own technology could be used against them." Quinn nodded in agreement.

"So, what do we do then, mix and match them and hope we get lucky?" asked one scientist from the back.

"It would be a good start," Quinn said. "I might be able to jury rig one that will work by itself, but who knows how long that might take?" He gestured to the workbench with many of the devices. "The sooner we all get to work, the sooner we'll have this thing solved..."

\-------

Underground Rec Room  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Friday, 5:00pm

Wade watched Rembrandt, who was walking around, grinning like an idiot, desperately trying to get everything ready for his big night. He had been popping in and out of the room so much she hadn't had any time to talk to him. He's getting too wrapped up in this, she thought. She almost regretted suggesting it, but for the first time in who knows how many slides, he looked happy. Having to put up with the revival of his ego was a small price to pay for it. She looked up from her couch and asked, "Hey, how're things going, Rembrandt?"

Rembrandt stopped and sat down beside her. "Great, great! Things are all falling into place for the Cryin' Man's debut on this world. I just have to decide what songs to sing."

"Well, just do what you're famous for. Can't go wrong with that, right?" she said with a smile.

Rembrandt considered it for a moment, then nodded. "Right... I mean, it's what made the millions of fans love me on my world. This world can't be THAT different. I was thinking of doing some of the classics from the other great singers, but it is only going to be a one hour show, so I should give them what they came to hear, right?"

Wade wanted to change the subject, as she knew Rembrandt was starting to get conceited again, so after convincingly nodding an agreement, she asked, "Have you seen Hurley around lately? I wanted to talk to him about something."

"Oh, I think he's out spreading the word," he answered. As if on cue, Hurley stepped through the door to the rec room. "Oh, there he is..." Rembrandt waved him over, smiling. "Hey, Mike!"

*Mike?* Wade thought with some surprise and amusement. She had noticed Hurley had been getting more and more enthusiastic about the concert, but she hadn't realized he and Rembrandt were on a first name basis. Even she never called him Mike. Hurley stepped forward, smiling jovially. That too, was unusual to Wade, who had rarely seen emotions other than anger, frustration, or a facade of friendliness for customers cross his face. More accurately, it was her world's Hurley who never showed them. Though occasionally it was difficult to separate the two in her mind, they were quite different.

"Okay Rembrandt," he said, "I've got a few other people out advertising the concert tonight. I think you're going to get quite a crowd."

Rembrandt nodded happily. "Good, good. Now what about finding a larger place to do it... I was thinking maybe we could do it as an outdoor concert?"

"I don't think that would be a good idea. Too dangerous, if there were an incursion. I was thinking, maybe the Briefing Room. It's big, I mean it's where President Kelley makes his speeches, and he always gets a full house."

"You think we can use that?"

"I'd have to get the okay from one of the sergeants, but I can try. If not, it's either going to be the gym or here."

"Okay, that's just great... Some of the guys here know how to play music, so I'm going to start teaching them the tune they'll need to play, okay?" Rembrandt asked. "It's all coming together nicely, isn't it?" he said wistfully, as he stood and headed to the other side of the room, humming one of his tunes to himself.

Hurley looked to Wade for a moment before he stood up too. "Well, I guess I'd better go look into using the briefing room..." he said.

"Wait... before you go, there's something I want to talk to you about."

Hurley sat down, suddenly looking and feeling quite nervous. "Yes, what is it you want, Miss Wells?"

Wade grinned. Only the Professor still called her Miss Wells anymore. "You know, you *can* call me Wade if you want..."

Hurley smiled. "Okay... you can call me Mike if you want."

Wade nodded. "Okay Mike," she began, putting an emphasis on his name, "I just..." She stopped for a moment, not really knowing how to continue after seeing Hurley's expression. She had been thinking that maybe Hurley was attracted to her, but she didn't feel the same way. She didn't want to give him the wrong idea, or hurt his feelings, but she hoped that maybe it would help their chances.

She restarted. "You know that we're scheduled to leave your world later tonight, right? And if we miss the window, we're going to be stuck here for a really long time." Hurley nodded. "We just can't handle that. Most of us have families back home that have no idea what has happened to us, or if they'll ever see us again. If we keep sliding, we at least have a chance of finding home. But in order to make the slide..."

Hurley interrupted, seeing where this was headed, "You want me to get you your device?" he asked with a frown.

"It's not as though we can't understand your need, but Quinn and the Professor are doing the best they can. Sergeant Morgan said we could only get our timer back if they get sliding technology, but they may not be able to do that in the, what," Wade looked up at the clock, "Seven hours before we're stuck here."

Hurley nodded, the frown still there. "So you befriend me in order to convince me to help you escape," he said in a bitter tone.

Wade was frustrated. This wasn't working. Now he was going to feel she was trying to use him.

"That's not it at all Mike... it's just that we need to do whatever we can to continue sliding until we find home. You're a decent, nice guy. Do you think it's fair to make us spend the rest of our lives on some alien world that's in the middle of a war?"

"No, but life isn't always fair. Do you know what the consequences will be if I go against the sergeants orders?" he asked.

"I have an idea of them. But you don't have to stay here, you know... you could come with us... find another world, where people live in peace..." Wade suggested.

The thought did appeal to him, he couldn't deny it, but his world was his home, and he had a duty to defend it. His irritation that Wade would think he would risk it came out in his voice. "I can't sell out my world just for my own selfish wants. If I did, I would be worse than them!" He pointed to the siren above the door, as if it had become a symbol of the enemy they had been fighting so long. He began to stand angrily.

"Mike, wait... I'm sorry... it's just that time's running out for us. We had to try every possibility. If you don't feel right about it... well, we'll just have to pray Quinn understands this better than he can explain it," Wade sighed, looking suddenly more worried and depressed.

It wasn't so much the fact that Hurley decided not to help them, it was that she had been so sure that he would come through for them. She'd always considered herself a pretty decent judge of character, but she felt she really blew it this time. The worst of it would be admitting to the Professor that he was right and she was wrong.

Hurley nodded grudgingly. "It's okay... I'm sure I'd have done the same if I were in your shoes. If you'll excuse me," he said, walking off. Despite his gracious words, Wade couldn't help but feel he had lost some respect for her. Feeling ashamed for some reason, she turned her head to the clock.


	9. Chapter 9

Underground Lab  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Friday, 8:50pm

Professor Arturo blinked, suddenly becoming awake again. He rubbed his eyes groggily and asked, "Ohh... how long have I been dozing off?"

Quinn looked over his shoulder to him, "Only about twenty minutes, don't worry. I let you sleep, since you looked like you were exhausted."

"Oh, I was, but that doesn't matter. Every minute counts. If I start to fall asleep again, I want you to slap me hard across the face, understand?"

Quinn entertained the thought for a moment. "That's really not necessary, Professor," he began, about to tell him he could do it without his help, but he yawned, trying unsuccessfully to suppress it. He was getting tired too. "Most of the other scientists have given up for the night," he said, changing his mind, "except for the few chaperons who've agreed to supervise us until the slide time. If we miss that, it really won't matter how long it takes to finish this."

Arturo leaned forward, "Speaking of which, how is it coming?"

Quinn shook his head. "I'm making some progress, but it isn't easy. But don't worry... we still have a chance of making it through this."

"Not a good chance," said Arturo despondently.

After a moment, Quinn conceded, "No. Not a good one." He sighed. "Do you know what the irony is? If we had our timer with us, to use as a template, it would be a hell of a lot easier to make this thing for them."

"But if we had our timer, we wouldn't need to."

Quinn glared at him. "*I* still would have, if I could."

Arturo placed his hand on Quinn's shoulder. "Let's not start that, the point is moot anyway. We do not have our timer, and unless Miss Wells or Mr. Brown manage to pull off a miracle, this is the only hope of getting us off this world."

Quinn, not needing the reminder, grabbed a pair of tweezers to make a small adjustment to the device. Arturo, meanwhile, stood up and took a walk around the table to help keep himself awake.

\-------

Gymnasium  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Friday, 8:55pm

"You all right, Rembrandt?" asked Wade.

"Oh, I'm just fine. We have quite a crowd, don't we?" He replied casually. There was not a hint of nervousness or anxiety in him, he was ready for this, his moment in the spotlight again.

He lived for times like these, when all eyes were on him, watching, listening, adoring. He never got stage fright, not even when he first started singing with the Spinning Topps, and back then he was actually a bit shy. Whenever he was about to go in front of an audience, he became cool and self-confident.

Wade surveyed the crowd. Most of them seemed to be military types, except for a few who wore civilian clothing. Then again, they had never quite figured out if there were any private citizens left in the city, considering the length and nature of the war. "Yeah, pretty good considering you only had one day of advertising."

"Word spreads fast here, I guess." He shrugged, and checked his watch. "Almost time for me to go on," he said as he glanced up to the makeshift stage along one wall of the gym.

"Knock 'em dead," Wade urged.

Rembrandt stepped up to the microphone on the stage, making him about two feet taller than everyone else in the room. He tapped the microphone once to make sure it was hooked up before speaking. "Good evening everyone. My name is Rembrandt Brown, and, well, I'm not sure how much you've heard about me here, but where I come from I'm a pretty famous singer. Now, I know with defending your city from your invaders and all, you guys haven't had much time for any kind of real entertainment. Hopefully, I'm going to change that tonight. Let's just pray that they don't ruin it. Before I begin, I'd just like to thank you all for coming, and give credit to the people who helped make this possible."

He waved his hands to the people setting up instruments behind him. "Most of you probably know Pete, Eddie, John and Mark, who'll be playing the music." Applause filled the room. "I'd also like you to give a hand to the beautiful young lady who gave me the idea in the first place, my good friend Wade Wells." Rembrandt pointed her out in the front of the crowd, and Wade blushed at the unexpected flattery and attention on her as there was more applause. "And, finally, the man without whom none of this would be possible, a man who went above and beyond the call of duty to set this up for me and you, Michael Hurley!"

More applause filled the room, but Wade and Rembrandt got the impression that some of it was just people being polite. In the back of the room a growing ring of deep voices chanted rudely, "Hurl! Hurl! Hurl!" It was not meant to be complimentary.

With a wave of his hand, Rembrandt quieted them down. "Okay, okay, that's enough," he said. "It's time to let the show begin..." He turned and whispered something to his band, and the music began to play. To the oblivious audience, the few off-timed notes weren't noticed, but Rembrandt recognized each and every one, slightly jarred each time. I knew I should have spent more time with them, he thought as he heard his cue and began to sing.

His first song was "Tears In My 'Fro", however it had been slightly altered since he first wrote it. On a previous slide where his double was famous, he heard the song with a faster tempo, and both he and the crowd seemed to like it more. It wasn't really stealing, he rationalized, since he was the one who wrote it, his double just helped him improve on it. This crowd seemed to enjoy the song, but before long he was too absorbed in making his music to notice. The trademark real tears that gave the "Cryin' Man" that nickname soon began streaming down his face. As the song finished and the applause started to die down, he smiled and began another.

Just outside the door to the gymnasium, Sergeant Morgan was about to walk past when he heard music start up. He paused to listen through the door for a moment, only to hear the beginning of the first verse to "Regret", a song Rembrandt wrote while back with the Spinning Topps but was not well-known for. The sergeant found himself staying to listen to the whole song before continuing on his way towards the hospital.

\-------

Underground Lab  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Saturday, 12:05am

Quinn knew from the hopeful looks in Wade and Rembrandt's eyes the moment they entered, but he ventured to ask anyway, "Did you manage to get the timer?"

Wade's face fell. "We were counting on you... you can't finish it?" Hurley entered a moment later, quietly.

Quinn glanced up at the clock. "I don't think so. It's just too big a job to do like this. I can continue trying, but it might just be an exercise in futility."

"How long do we have?" asked Rembrandt.

Arturo glanced at his watch. "20 minutes."

"Never thought it would end like this," Rembrandt mused. "I mean, with all the close calls we've had, I figured if we missed the gate, it would be a matter of seconds. This... just waiting here, for the time to run out, with nothing we can do..." He breathed out sharply. "It's depressing."

Hurley stepped forward. "I just want you all to know, that I wish I could have done more than I did... but there's still a chance for you."

Wade turned to him in surprise. "What?"

"While I was helping Rembrandt set up the concert, I was also seeing what I could do for you," Hurley said. "I got statements from some of the scientists saying they thought your ideas were valid and bringing them farther than they had been before, and since I knew where President Kelley was being treated for his injury, just before the concert I took them to him with your story, and asked him to consider returning your device."

"And??" the group said almost in unison.

"He didn't make any promises, but he said he'd look them over and discuss things with Sergeant Morgan. I haven't heard back."

"I suggest we not get our hopes up. With less than 20 minutes to go, at this time of night... it's unlikely to say the least," said Arturo.

Despite the fact that only consequence to the Sliders missing the gate was to strand them on this world for almost thirty years, the twenty minutes felt remarkably like waiting for an execution. In a way, it was, for missing the gate meant all hope of returning to their old lives died then and there. The Sliders found them each reviewing their life up to this point.

Quinn was the most affected, though he did not show it. In his mind, if it wasn't for him bringing the others in on Sliding, they wouldn't be in the situation.

The others, for the most part, already forgave him. Although Rembrandt sometimes made a show of blaming Quinn, he never really meant it. In fact, though he'd never admit it, Sliding was probably the most important thing to happen to him. Wade and Arturo both knew Quinn never forced them to come along, rather they had volunteered, and so were at least partly responsible for their own fate.

The minutes ticked away. 12:10... 12:15... 12:20... They gazed longingly at the door, hoping that it would open. As the last two minutes approached, Wade opened it herself, and stepped into the hallway.

She saw nothing. No guard coming to deliver their timer, no one coming to see them off, or even offer their condolences.

Back inside the room, Professor's Arturo watch beeped twice. He always tried to remember to set the alarm to alert him a minute before they were to Slide. This was no exception.

Wade came back in. "Nobody is out there."

Two minutes later, Arturo looked at his watch. "Well, that's that, I'm afraid," he said, trying to project an optimistic demeanor he did not feel.

"I'm sorry..." Hurley began feebly.

Quinn stared at the clock stone-faced. "We're stuck here."

"I'm sorry..." Hurley repeated, not sure what else to say.

Wade moved away from the door and over to Quinn, on the verge of tears. She put her arms around him, to grab hold of one of the only true reminders of home, and he returned the embrace, still trying to accept they had missed the window of opportunity.

Now, with all hope of seeing home gone, the Sliders had only each other as a means of support.


	10. Chapter 10

Underground Barracks  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Saturday, 10:00am

They had gone back to their assigned barracks soon after their time ran out. Tired and disheartened, they went to sleep surprisingly quickly, but their sleep was plagued by dreams of being lost, or of relatives calling out to them like Dorothy saw in the Wizard of Oz, or of joining the war and seeing each other getting blown up. It was not surprising they did not feel very rested when they finally woke up the next morning.

A knock came at the door. "May I come in?" asked a voice on the other side. It was definitely not Hurley, but sounded familiar. Rembrandt, sitting nearest the door stood up and opened it.

Sergeant Morgan stepped through, hat in one hand, and a small box in another. "I have been told to return your property to you."

Arturo, suddenly angered, bolted out of his seat. "Well, it's a little late for that!"

"We are all deeply sorry that you had to miss your way off our world," the sergeant said, although he sounded more like he was told to say everyone felt sorry rather than actually feeling it himself. "By the time we were able to find it and get it sent over here, it was already too late."

He held the black box he carried in front of him, silently offering it to Arturo, who snatched it out of his hands and opened it.

The timer looked the same as it had looked when they slid in, with the exception of the display. All of the numbers on the red digital display that indicated the time until the next window were now fixed at nine. The next window would be 29.7 years away, far too long to be readable on the display of hours and minutes. Arturo pocketed the timer.

"President Kelley has instructed me to treat you as V.I.P. guests, if you are still willing to work with our scientists," Sergeant Morgan reported. "He also suggests some of our scientists might be able to help you with your own problem."

Quinn and Arturo doubted that highly.

"Thank you. We'll consider it," Quinn said, ushering the sergeant towards the door.

"Private Hurley is assigned to assist you with anything you may need," he said finally, his thinly veiled dislike for Hurley even more clear through his voice than ever. They closed the door on him.

"Can you believe that guy?" Rembrandt asked, shaking his head, once the sergeant was gone.

"So what DO we do now?" Wade asked. "Do you think there might be a way to fix the timer so we can leave?"

Arturo considered it. "I honestly don't know. We've missed our best opportunity with the window. At best, with some work, we MIGHT have a chance to open another gate. But that would risk shorting the timer out forever, making our next slide the last. And the next world might be even worse than this one."

"Or it might be home," added Wade.

"Okay, but this is all just speculation. We don't know if we'll be able to do this. What we should be discussing is, if we are going to be stuck here forever, what then?" Quinn pointed out. "Do we join their war? Continue working on their link to the other world? Start new lives here, never seeing our families again?"

"The best option would be appear to be for Quinn and I to continue working in the lab," Arturo said after some thought. "If we must spend the rest of our lives here, we'll at least have something to do, and in the meantime, we can look into fixing the timer."

"It's going to be hard thinking of this world as home. It's like everyone here's so tense, wound up and ready for their next 'incursion'," Wade said, bitterly.

Rembrandt snapped his fingers. "Hey... what if we make it to the other world? Could we use our timer to slide out of there?"

Quinn and Arturo exchanged glances. Suddenly, Arturo laughed, a strange booming laugh. He slapped Rembrandt hard on the back. "I hadn't even considered... Sometimes, Mr. Brown, you astound me! Yes, it's quite possible that on the other Earth there will be a window of opportunity we can use to continue on our journey home. Of course, the only problem with that is..."

Quinn finished, "We can't get there, yet. So we end up back in the lab again until we do."

Wade smiled, hopeful, "But we still have a chance, right? You said you were almost finished when we missed the slide, right?"

Quinn tried his best to smile confidently, and nodded.

\-------

Underground Lab  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Saturday, 12:00pm

Given a goal important enough, people will even work through weekends. Though the Sliders knew it was Saturday, aside from a few new faces appearing, and an equal number from the day before absent, the lab gave no indication of it being anything other than another day on the job. Or, almost no indication. People were just slightly more relaxed, showing up late, leaving early, a tacit acknowledgement that they were here of choice, donating their spare time.

To this world's natives, it was routine; to come in on the weekends with as much time as you can spare, immerse yourself in your work. It wasn't as though there was much to do besides work. Many of the things they took for granted before, such as going shopping, or playing ball in the park, were too risky.

To the Sliders, it was a matter of 'the sooner we can get off this world, the better', but it came as somewhat of a shock that there were so many others working as well.

A small crowd was watching Quinn's work with interest. He was nearing completion of what they had been working on for two years. Quinn, however, appeared not to notice them, making adjustments here and there as he rushed to finish. Finally, a few minutes later, he snapped the top casing onto the remote control-like device, and stood.

"Time to test it out..." he said, so low that, if not for the hush that fell over the crowd, no one would have been able to hear.

A flurry of voices started, most of them alerting those who were not already watching, or speculating on the outcome.

"You think it'll work?"

"Hey, Jeff, get over here, he's finished!"

"Go get Dr. Stillwell."

Quinn turned towards one section of the crowd, and waved them to get out of the way, which they did with a surprising fluidity. He pointed the device at the empty air.

A beam of light-distortion shot out of it, until seeming to hit some invisible wall a few feet out, and stopping into a tiny, grapefruit-sized circle of rippling light. The circle was shifting constantly, growing slightly, than shrinking slightly, but never reaching more than the about the radius of a basketball. No tunnel opening appeared in the center. Suddenly, it collapsed, vanishing into nothingness. The grin that appeared on Quinn's face as it appeared to be working vanished just as fast.

"Well, that was a good try, Mr. Mallory!" Arturo said with sincere optimism as most of the crowd began to disperse, returning to their own projects with dull looks. Dr. Stillwell remained nearby, in thought. "We nearly had it there. We just have to find out what went wrong."

"Yeah, Q-Ball... don't beat yourself up over it. It's just a matter of time, now," Rembrandt added.

"I was sure I had it working, though..." Quinn said sadly. He looked down at it for a moment, then out of the blue, asked, "Do you think I might have a double in this world?"

They really didn't know how to answer. All of them knew there was really no way to tell without actually looking, and they had more important things to worry about during this slide than that.

Quinn answered himself, "I've been thinking, there's probably no reason why I should not have one. Maybe he's not around anymore, but what if he was working on Sliding himself? Or maybe he left, to escape the war." He didn't want to think about the possibility that he was killed. "I think we should at least go check out my house, see if maybe we might be able to find notes or something that can help."

"Maybe," Wade said. "Do you want to go now?"

Quinn nodded. "I think we've all been stuck underground too long anyway. But you don't have to come if you don't want to. It might be dangerous, if there's an attack."

Wade and Rembrandt both indicated they wouldn't mind. Arturo sat down, tired, and said, "I'll stay here, and see if there is anything I can do."

"Let's go find Hurley, see if he can give us a lift," Wade suggested as they walked out, mostly unnoticed.

Dr. Stillwell once again returned to his office, the other scientists resumed trying to find a combination of sliding devices to open a gate, and Professor Arturo opened the casing of Quinn's device to look for faults.

\-------

Outside Quinn's House  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Saturday, 1:05pm

The sun had assaulted their eyes when they finally got outside, forcing them to squint until they managed to adjust. It seemed to be brighter than ever before, but it was probably just because they had spend so much time in the soft, artificial lights underground.

Hurley stopped the van in front of Quinn's house, and they stepped out, looking at the house. The windows were all boarded up, and looked to be in a state of disrepair. The grass, like in most of the other lawns, had not been cut in some time, and the garden was overrun with weeds. The fence gate squeaked mockingly at Quinn as they started down the walkway to the front door. Quinn reached for the doorknob, but Hurley stopped him. "You might want to knock, first. That's one good way to get shot."

"You mean people still live out here?" Wade asked in surprise.

Hurley nodded. "We couldn't force people to just leave their homes. A lot of people stayed, despite the danger."

Quinn knocked cautiously. A few moments later, the door started opening slowly, swung open quickly. A blonde woman, old and looking worn out, stood with a gun aimed on them. She focused her eyes on Quinn, and lowered it. Her face looked suddenly distraught and confused.

"Quinn?" she asked hesitantly. He didn't need to answer. "Oh my god, Quinn!" she cried happily.

Not again, Quinn thought. He suddenly felt awful, showing up like this. Even if she was happy now, it could only cause her more pain if they managed to leave this world.

On top of all that, all he could think to say was, "Hi, Mom."


	11. Chapter 11

Foyer, Quinn's House  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Saturday, 1:08pm

Quinn's mother ran up to him and put her arms around him, almost squeezing the life out of him. "Quinn! I thought you were... Where have you been all this time? Why didn't you let me know you were okay?"

Quinn tried to interrupt her several times with a "Mom...", until she finally stopped speaking and looked at him.

"Mom... I'm not exactly... your son." Quinn suddenly realized how absurd that sounded. She looked at him, confused, and then turned to look at the other people with him, as if seeking answers.

She looked from one unfamiliar face to the next, then finally her gaze settled on Wade. "Wade? My, you look so much different, with your hair shorter. Has Quinn been with you all this time?"

Wade nodded, after all, it wasn't really a lie. Quinn's mother, however, apparently was looking for any rational explanation. "I see... Quinn went off to find you! He was so upset when your family moved away..." She turned back to Quinn, "And because of the war, you couldn't let me know you weren't on campus that day!"

It was Quinn's turn to look confused. He drew his hands across his face, frustrated.

"Look..." he began, but didn't know how to finish. "Why don't we sit down?"

His mother nodded, smiling hugely, tear stains on her cheeks, as she led them into the kitchen. She put her gun down on the counter (she had been holding it even while hugging Quinn), and then sat down. "I'd offer you some coffee, but I haven't made it down to the Relief Center for a few days."

"That's okay, Mrs. Mallory," Wade said. "What did you think happened, if you don't mind my asking?" She wanted to leave it to Quinn to explain the truth. It was probably cruel of her to do so, but this was Quinn's mother.

"Well, naturally when I heard about the Berkeley Massacre, I assumed..." she began, but just left the statement hanging.

"What was that?" Rembrandt asked, looking to Hurley.

"It was the first confirmed flashpoint of enemy shock troops in San Francisco, on the U.C. Berkeley campus," he explained, "We'd been warned to be prepared for something like this, but until the Massacre not everyone took seriously the warning to keep armed. Almost everyone on campus was killed, and it was burned to ashes."

Quinn winced at the thought of all his friends at school, dead.

"I'm just glad you weren't there... I mean, I wish you would have TOLD me, Quinn," she said, with a sudden motherly glare. "But as long as you're okay, I'm happy."

"Mom... I don't really know how to say this, but... I'm not the Quinn you know."

"Well, of course you've changed in the past two..." she began.

"No, I mean... I'm a different one. I come from an alternate universe, where this war isn't going on..."

"I... I don't understand,"

"I don't know what happened to the Quinn of this world. Maybe he did survive but just hasn't been able to contact you," he said, trying his best not to crush her. "But I'm not that Quinn. Wade, Rembrandt and I come from a different world. I invented a technology that takes us between worlds, just like the world that's invading has..."

Mrs. Mallory frowned. "If this is another one of your jokes, it most certainly isn't funny."

"I swear... I'm not kidding. I almost wish it weren't true, so you would be happy, but back on my world, another version of you would feel the same way as you did."

She looked heartbroken. "So... why are you here then?"

"I thought maybe your Quinn might have been working on the same thing I was, and maybe knew more about it than I did. I just came to check out the basement for research notes."

"The basement is empty," she said, her face a blank slate.

All this for nothing, Quinn thought. I shouldn't have even come, I've just made her feel worse. "Oh. Maybe we should all just go, then. I'm sorry." Everyone except Quinn's mother stood up to leave, and when she said nothing, they started for the front door.

They had gotten just outside the door when Quinn heard his named called from inside. His mother came up behind him. "Are you going to be here long, on this world?"

"I don't know... I might be."

"Do you think, you could come back and visit, if you get a chance? Not right now, maybe, give me a little time. But even if you're not from this world, you're still my son," she said weakly. 

Quinn nodded, and on impulse kissed her cheek, wrinkled with stress more than age, before turning back to the van, where Hurley, Wade, and Rembrandt were waiting. The door closed behind him, and he started walking, when something caught his eye.

On the lawn to his left, a blue-white circle appeared in the air. It expanded quickly, until it became a whirling tunnel, eight feet in radius. Wind poured out of it, and his hair began flapping about in the sudden gale.

Three forms appeared in a flash of light, walking calmly out of it. Each wore identical uniforms, made of some high-strength plastic and with a metallic blue sheen to it. In their hands, they carried long firearms, identical except for one which had a larger barrel. They surveyed the area quickly with their eyes, then one pointed at Quinn as the portal closed behind them.

"Incursion!" yelled Hurley, grabbing at the phone at his waist with one hand, and trying to get his rifle off his shoulder with the other.

The soldiers advanced on Quinn. He heard Wade telling him to run, but he didn't need her to tell him that. He turned and ran in the opposite direction, hoping to jump the fence on the other side of the yard, but got only a few steps before he heard a noise behind him, and felt something hit his legs. They were suddenly pulled back, and he fell on his face, unable to pull them apart.

One soldier continued to advance on him, while the others turned as Hurley fired a shot at them, and missed. Quinn was lifted quickly to the air by his legs, held up as a shield between Hurley's gun and the soldier carrying him.

The other soldiers began to return fire, causing Wade and Rembrandt to duck down below Quinn's fence. Hurley kneeled on the sidewalk, to get cover while still able to fire.

Suddenly, Hurley fell backwards, and a trickle of blood began pouring from his shoulder. The three soldiers turned to the same point on the lawn they entered, and raised three devices to the air. Another vortex appeared. The soldier carrying Quinn threw him in first, then stepped through himself. The others fired bullets above the fence.

Wade crawled over to Hurley as she whispered to Rembrandt, "What are we going to do? They've got Quinn!"

Rembrandt covered his head as another bullet whizzed above him. He looked through a crack in the fence at the two remaining soldiers, who were turning towards the vortex.

"I can't believe I'm about to do this," he muttered to himself. He looked at Wade, "You stay here and call for help. I'll bring Q-Ball back, I swear it."

The bullets stopped, and Rembrandt vaulted over the fence and ran for the portal, which was already beginning to close after the last soldier. He closed his eyes and dove in head first, disappearing into the whirling tunnel. Half a second later, the tunnel itself vanished completely.

Wade grabbed the phone from Hurley's hand, placing it to her ear. There was no dial tone, just static. Hesitantly, she spoke into it. "Hello?"

"Dispatch...." came the reply.

"We just had an... incursion," she said. She gave Quinn's address, then added, "They're gone now, but Private Hurley's been hurt... send help quick."

Wade dropped the phone and put her hand on Hurley's neck, feeling for his pulse. He was alive, though no longer conscious. Her other hand raised from the sidewalk, Hurley's blood staining the side. She looked up, away from the sight, and only then noticed Quinn's mother standing in the open doorway, looking at once horrified and desolate.

\-------

Underground Lab  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Saturday, 1:18pm

A siren sounded in the lab, and throughout much of the military facilities. Most just ignored it, though a few, including Professor Arturo, were startled. "What...?" he said, looking up.

A brown-haired scientist sat leaned over her notes beside him. "Incursion alarm," she said casually. They had been through too many  
of them to be overly concerned anymore.

"It sounded different the last time I heard one."

She looked up, listening, until the alarm stopped a few moments later. "Means they've already been repelled."

"Well, that's encouraging," he said, looking back to Quinn's prototype device.

"Yes," she said, then paused. She looked over one last thing in her notes, then turned to face him. "Professor Arturo...?"

"Yes?" he asked without looking up.

She paused until he did look up, then said, "I heard you're going to be staying on with us, is that right?"

"Not by choice, but yes, it appears that way for the moment."

"Well, I noticed that you always seem to keep to yourselves, you and that other one." She paused. "Then again, a lot of us haven't done much to make you feel welcome here. But, if you're going to be staying, we should all probably learn to work together."

"I suppose so," Arturo agreed.

"I'm Pamela North," she said, smiling. "I'm a physicist. Or, I was a physicist. Since the war, I'm working on 'the project.'" She used her fingers to make quotation marks as she said the words.

Arturo bowed slightly. "A pleasure." It suddenly occurred to him that she was the first of the scientists to actually introduce themselves. There were a few he knew the name of, from observations, but none had actually told him personally. "I was a professor of cosmology and ontology at UC Berkeley before I got mixed up with Quinn Mallory, and became a dimensional traveller, Sliding from Earth to Earth."

He smiled, easily suppressing the tiny urge to add, 'and hoping each time that the next Slide... will be the Slide home,' and paraphrase a TV show which sometimes seemed to have a lot in common with their problem. Except the Sliders had no link to home. He remembered the one time where the highlight of the Slide was when he found the show still running.

Pamela nodded. "I had a friend who taught at Berkeley," she said. "May I ask you something?"

Arturo raised an eyebrow. "You may ask, but I won't promise to answer," he said with a smile.

"I've heard you have an interdimensional travel device, from your world. Is it true?"

Arturo nodded curtly.

"I've been dying to have a look at it ever since I heard. Do you mind?"

"I don't see what harm it could do," Arturo said finally. "It isn't anything special. Right now it's about as useless as the ones you recovered from invaders. Maybe more so." He reached for it in the pockets of his coat, then pulled it out, first glancing briefly at it, and then staring.

"What?" Pamela asked.

He didn't answer, only blinked, so she asked again, going behind him to look over his shoulder. Because she had never seen the timer before, so wasn't sure what it was that so entranced him.

Everything looked intact. The numbers on the red digital display counted down with each second.

"Four days!?" he said suddenly, in awe.

"I don't understand."

"My friends and I now have four days and three hours until we can next Slide. The window has come almost thirty years ahead of schedule."


	12. Chapter 12

The Void

Rembrandt felt an odd detachment in the void. Perhaps it was something about the nature of the void itself, or perhaps it was just that he knew that there was nothing he could really do for Quinn until the trip was over, but even though his adrenaline was flowing and his heart was racing, he found time to think about other things.

For example, he noticed the differences between this slide and all the others he had been through. During most other slides, he was bumped around a lot in the tunnel, accelerating and decelerating at random. This slide was a lot smoother, almost as though he were being carried gently at a leisurely pace. He wasn't flailing about, but nor was he uncomfortably stiff.

The slide took a little longer this time, too, or at least it seemed that way, and it took several minutes before he saw the mouth of the tunnel. The one other thing he noticed was that he couldn't see Quinn or the three soldiers, but he figured it was likely because he was too far behind. As he drew towards the bright light that marked the end of the tunnel he thought to himself, This is how Sliding was meant to be.

\-------

Octavian Promenade, Street-level  
San Francisco Citystate, New Empire  
Saturday, 1:22pm

Rembrandt stepped out of the tunnel, on steady legs, rather than falling on his face as was usually done, and it closed behind him the moment he was through, making him realize for the first time how close he came to missing it.

The first thing he noticed about this new world was the air; it was foul with a slight taste of gasoline to it. And I thought the smog in L.A. was bad, he thought as he tried to suppress a cough. Buildings of massive size ran along the length of the street, all connected not only by streets but by elevated walkways at varying heights. The mirror-like walls reflected ambient light, from the dingy mostly overcast sky, to street level, which would otherwise be in deep shade. It gave the light a strange artificial quality.

About a block ahead of him, he saw the other soldiers carrying Quinn, apparently oblivious that Rembrandt followed them through the wormhole. Quinn's feet dragged along the sidewalk, but Rembrandt could not tell whether he was conscious or not. Aware of his own visibility standing in the middle of the street, he sprinted off to the side, and tried to follow, hugging the wall of a building.

Suddenly, there was a long low tone, like a cruise ship's horn. Immediately afterwards, people streamed out of the buildings. Some appeared relieved, others slightly irritated and in a rush. The sidewalk was crowded with people within minutes, as was most of the road.

Rembrandt heard one person who passed him comment to the man beside him, "I wish the military wouldn't stop traffic so often; it's just getting ridiculous." The other man nodded. Neither of them paid any attention to Rembrandt.

It was moments later that Rembrandt realized he had no hope of catching up with the soldiers and Quinn. He'd already lost them in the crowd. This didn't stop him from trying, however, as he continued to walk along the street for several blocks, looking for some sign of them in the sea of people.

Finally, after around fifteen minutes of fruitless searching, weaving in and out of the hordes of people, without seeing Quinn or the soldiers, he stopped, resting along the corner of one building and a narrow alley.

He stayed there for several minutes, trying to think. What have I gotten myself into, he thought, and not for the first time that day. There's no way I'm going to find Quinn, with him with those goons, and me out here.

He had a little bit of money, but not much, and he wanted to make sure the money was the same before he tried to pass off American dollars. He'd already made that mistake once, and he did not care to repeat it.

Rembrandt waved to the next person to pass him and asked, "Hey, do you have a dollar I could borrow for a minute?" A sneer of contempt was his only reply, as the person walked off. "I just wanted to see it for a second," he muttered to himself, angry, and asked another. And another, and another, with no more luck than the first. One woman told him to get a job.

Rembrandt tried singing next, holding out his hand as he did so, hoping they would get the idea and give him a few bucks. After his first song, a coin was actually thrown at his feet, but he was not able to see who had thrown it.

He picked it up and glanced at it. It was the color of bronze, definitely not standard American. One side bore an image of some sort of bird wearing a crown, on a burning sun. The flip side had the number 1453 A.N.I., which could have been the minting date, the image of a man Rembrandt did not recognize, the phrase "Esto perpetua", and from the bottom, he saw it was worth one dollar. He pocketed it, and began singing again, but at this time he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Excuse me, can I see your identification?" said a voice belonging to the hand's owner. Rembrandt turned and was faced with a police officer, dressed in a military-looking but recognizable police uniform.

Rembrandt shook his head.

"You'll have to come with me sir." The officer grabbed Rembrandt's arm and pulled him roughly down the street.

\-------

Underground Lab  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Saturday, 2:15pm

Wade burst through the door of the lab. "Professor! Quinn's been captured and Rembrandt went to follow him, and Hurley..." she took a breath, then finished, "got shot in the shoulder."

Arturo, concern evident on his face, approached her. "Calm down Miss Wells." She became suddenly aware of the speed she had been speaking. "You're practically hysterical. Just take a deep breath, and tell me what happened."

Wade waited for her pulse to slow down a bit, taking a few breaths. When she had collected herself, she explained, "We were at Quinn's house, and his mother was there, but the Quinn of this world died in the first attack on San Francisco. We were getting ready to go when suddenly a vortex opened out of nowhere, and these soldiers came out, after Quinn. One shot some sort of net at his legs so he couldn't run away, then just dragged him off, while the others shot at us. Hurley got hit in the shoulder. Just after they left, and before the vortex closed, Rembrandt jumped in after them."

"What?! That crazy...." He stopped. Despite the stupidity of such an action, he thought, you had to admire the man's courage. He had changed a lot since they first met. "Is Mr. Hurley all right?"

"I don't know, they took him to the infirmary, and I came straight here to tell you."

Arturo thought for a moment. "I don't see that there is much else we can do. Hopefully Rembrandt will be able to help Quinn without getting either of them killed, and then make it back here in time for the Slide."

She nodded sadly, then realized what he said. "The Slide? What do you mean?"

"It's now four days away, and I think I know why," he said. She just stared at him until he explained, "The equations based on the Helix spiral predict..."

"English, Professor?"

"Oh, very well, I will attempt to explain it with an analogy a layperson can understand. Imagine each universe is like a tiny bubble in a vast sea. A wormhole can sometimes be opened between any two bubbles in the sea. However, due to the weakened powers of our timer, we can only open a gate between a bubble that is very close to the one we are in. The bubbles are constantly moving, however, so when we arrive on the world, we must wait until a bubble is close enough, and if we miss that time, we know from mathematical equations that another bubble will not come as close as we need for another 30 years or so." He paused. "Do you follow?"

She nodded, and he continued, "Now, when we slide into a different bubble, our entrance alters its trajectory and speed, and it starts to approach another bubble. This is why we never slide onto a world with a 30 year wait until the next slide."

"I always wondered about that."

"Now, we missed the closest point between bubbles, so we expected a wait of 30 years, or 29.7 to be more precise, until we have another chance. But now, since someone from another bubble has slid into this one..."

Wade finished, "It sent this one towards another, closer bubble!"

"Yes, that's it exactly. The explanation is a little over-simplified, but it will do until you get a better grounding in quantum cosmology. In actual fact, it is probably due to the global nature of the slides on this world that this effect is observable on a local scale."

"If Rembrandt and Quinn manage to get back here, wouldn't that change the time until the next portal?"

"It might, but I think only slightly. I believe that the farther we are from a window, the easier it is to be pushed towards a closer one. But since we're already close, another slide into this world might advance it by a few hours, maybe, but...." he stopped, thinking. "You know... if we can properly harness this property, we might be able to build a device that warns this world the instant there is an incursion nearby."

Sergeant Morgan entered the lab that moment, striding directly for Wade. "Would you care to explain what happened?" he almost shouted.

Wade recounted the events at Quinn's house. "Captured?" The sergeant asked with a derisive snort. "Repatriated is more like it! I knew from the moment I let you out of that cell I made a huge mistake! All this time you claimed to be working, you were probably just trying to set up your escape."

"Would you just shut up?" Wade said.

This took the sergeant, who was apparently not used to being spoken to in such a tone, by surprise. Wade continued, "How many times do we have to tell you we're not from that other world? Our friends are stuck on that other world, and we'd like to get them back here as much as you. More, in fact. Seems to me you'd be glad to be rid of us all." She took a deep, calming breath. "Professor Arturo is doing everything in his power, and if that's not good enough you can just build the machine yourself!" She walked off.

When she was gone, Sergeant Morgan stared after her. "She can be quite the firecracker," he muttered, stunned.

Arturo smiled grimly. "You have no idea."

\------

Elevator, Command Control Tower Alpha  
San Francisco Citystate, New Empire  
Saturday, 3:00pm

Quinn opened his eyes and looked around. The last thing he remembered was being thrown into the void, and then being hit by... something. Maybe one of the soldiers' guns. It didn't matter, but his head ached. He looked down to his feet, still held fast by the net, and then to the soldiers. Their stony faces betrayed no emotion except a trace of what looked to be boredom.

He was in an elevator, ascending or descending, he couldn't quite tell with the throbbing pain at the side of his head, but he knew it was moving. The walls looked sleek and the panel hi-tech.

The elevator doors whisked open, onto a large circular room, which resembled something like a cross between NASA's control center and the bridge of the USS Enterprise during a red alert.

A voice, the soldier to his left, said, "Commander King, sir! The prisoner, as you requested, sir!"

A man stood up from his seat in front of Quinn. For a long moment Quinn thought he wasn't going to turn around, but then he did, and walked up the ramp towards them. "Drop him," he ordered.

Quinn slumped to his knees as his sore and tired arms were no longer held up.

"Well, well," the man continued, kneeling down beside him and staring into Quinn's eyes intently. Quinn saw satisfaction, perhaps even triumph in his eyes as they continued to stare. "Quinn Mallory. We never thought we'd see you again. This will be quite a boost to my status, bringing you in. Alive, no less." He looked up to the soldiers surrounding him. "And to your own, as well. All three of you performed admirably. You were both quick and efficient, and your mission was a complete success. A job well done. I'll be sure to make note of it in your records. Dismissed." The three soldiers turned into the elevator and vanished.

"Now..." Commander King said, "I really wouldn't care to drag you along wherever I have to take you, so I'm going to free your legs up for walking." He stood up, and grabbed something from a table, then kneeled down again.

Commander King pushed a thick, open metal ring towards Quinn's neck. "Don't struggle, or we'll sedate you and put it on that way," he warned as Quinn began to pull his neck away.

Quinn still pulled away, though he didn't actively resist, but with one quick push the Commander got the ring around his neck, and closed it. It drew closer until it was tight, with no way to squeeze out of it. He could feel something poking very lightly at the skin of his neck. It wasn't penetrating, but it was enough to be irritating.

Attached to the ring from the front was a long metal cord, ending in another ring, much smaller. This the commander attached to his own wrist, and activated a button. "As you no doubt know, this is your incentive to be good, and play nice. My life and your life are now intimately connected until I say otherwise. The moment my wristband stops detecting my pulse, your jugular will be pumped full of the deadliest neurotoxin known to science. You kill me, or even manage to sever this link, your life ends. Understood?"

Quinn nodded and thought, talk about being over dramatic. The commander pulled a knife from his boot and began cutting along the netting, until finally Quinn could pull his legs apart. Commander King stood, at which point Quinn noticed more of the cord connecting them pull out from his neck band, until he also stood.

"What's going to happen to me?" Quinn asked.

"You're going before your old friend the consul, and a board of inquiry so you can answer for your crimes against this Empire."

"What crimes?" Quinn asked, swallowing.

"Dereliction of duty, and high treason. The punishment, in case you'd forgotten, IS death." Despite his repeated claim that he was not this world's Quinn, Commander King didn't say another word to him.


	13. Chapter 13

Courthouse  
San Francisco Citystate, New Empire  
Saturday, 4:00pm

"The accused, Rembrandt Brown, is charged with soliciting, obstructing pedestrian traffic, and vagrancy. Stand for the honorable Magistrate Thomas Darius," was read in monotone by a small, beady-eyed man.

Rembrandt was already standing, as was the police officer beside him. The magistrate, dressed in a traditional judge's robe, sat at the bench. Instead of a tapping a gavel on the bench, he rang a small gong with a tiny hammer.

Everyone except Rembrandt and the police officer sat down. He thought it was odd that he'd be brought to trial this quickly, especially with it being a Saturday, but he had no idea how this society worked. What was Saturday on other worlds might, because of some twist of fate, be a Monday here, or maybe everyone here worked on Saturdays. Whatever the reason, he hoped it meant he would be out of here quickly, once he explained what had happened.

"Are you the arresting officer?" the magistrate asked the officer beside him.

"Yes, your honor."

"Present your case."

"The accused was clearly seen earlier today by many passerbys, some of whom he accosted, requesting handouts. He eventually began singing in an effort to raise money. This obstructed the flow of pedestrian traffic. Upon questioning on the way here, the accused would not reveal an address."

The magistrate turned to Rembrandt. "Did the events occur as described?"

"Well, yes, your honor, but I..." he began, but the magistrate cut him off.

"You admit your guilt. Judgement has been rendered against you." The magistrate looked down at him, and asked in a gentle voice, "Mr. Brown, do you have a permanent address?"

Rembrandt wasn't sure what to say, but was sure being caught in a lie would not be a good thing, so, resigned, he responded, "No, not exactly, your honor."

"The court will thus be lenient," the magistrate began. Rembrandt took a relieved breath. "Under the Vagrancy Act of 1247 anno Novus Imperium, we sentence you to one year mandatory servitude. Your sponsor will be determined later today or early tomorrow."

Before the magistrate could even finished, Rembrandt shouted in outrage, "Lenient? You're selling me into slavery, and you call that lenient!?"

"Don't force me to hold you in contempt, which will only add to your servitude period. Are you aware of the standard conditions between a sponsor and a servant?"

"I'm not going to be a slave to anyone!" he said.

"Mr. Brown, I am trying to be patient and lenient, but one more outburst like that will force me to take action against you. Mandatory servitude is the most humane punishment the justice system has. Since you appear unaware of the conditions, the law forces me to explain the basics. Under the sponsor's side of the contract, he is obligated to provide adequate food and housing for you, and you are not to be subjected to any gross physical mistreatment. The latter clause can be omitted for gladiatorial sponsorship, but that won't happen in your case."

The magistrate took a breath. "For your part, you must do whatever your sponsor asks of you, unless obeying would constitute an offense under our criminal code, or violate the sponsor's half of the agreement. You will wear a tag that can trace you at all times. If you remove this tag, try to escape, or in any way harm your sponsor before your servitude period has elapsed, you will be put to death. Do you understand these terms as I have outlined them to you?"

"Yes, but... your honor, this is unfair!" Naturally, Rembrandt always found the concept of slavery to be not only unfair, but degrading and dehumanizing, and no matter how much this judge tried to make it sound good, or cover it with euphemisms like 'mandatory servitude' and 'sponsors', he wasn't going to stand for it.

"You are receiving food, shelter and a job that will provide skills and experience in later life. This is the fairest possible thing under the circumstances." The magistrate rung the gong again, "Bailiff, take Mr. Brown to the Department of Human Resources. Next case."

\-------

Infirmary  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Saturday, 4:15pm

"Miss Wells?"

Wade looked up sharply at the sound of her name. She had been staring at a spot on the ground for some time, so it took her eyes a second to refocus on the doctor.

"Yes?"

"We've removed the bullet from Private Hurley's shoulder. He lost a lot of blood, but he should be okay. If you want to see him for a few minutes, I can take you to him now,"

Wade nodded, for some reason feeling guilty that while she was waiting to hear about Hurley, all she could think about was Quinn and whether Rembrandt would be able to bring him back as he promised. She stood slowly and followed the doctor past one of the privacy screens.

Hurley lay on a bed, an IV tube coming out of his wrist. His eyes were open, but only barely, as he breathed slowly and deeply.

The doctor said, "We've given him a sedative, so don't stay long," and left.

Wade tried her best to smile encouragingly. "Hi... you okay?"

"Wade?" he asked uncertainly. His eyes opened wide for a second, as he did a quick and disoriented look around, then when he blinked, he couldn't get them open more than halfway. "I'm fine, just sleepy," he mumbled. "You okay?"

Wade nodded, and squeezed his hand. "Yeah, don't worry. I just wanted to make sure you're okay. I'll let you get some sleep." She began to pull her hand away from his, when he grabbed it.

"Wade, wait. I just wanted to say something." He swallowed, an action that seemed to take forever. "I wanted to say... I'm sorry I couldn't save Quinn," he whispered in a raspy voice.

"You did your best. Get some sleep," she replied, her voice at the same level.

She left the room.

Alone, Hurley mumbled weakly to himself as he drifted off to sleep, "Wish I wasn't such a lousy shot..."

\-------

Underground Lab  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Saturday, 4:30pm

Arturo scratched some final numbers onto a piece of paper. "There..." he said to himself.

It wasn't quite finished, but it was a start. Ever since his discovery of the new window of opportunity for Sliding, he had been doing mathematical manipulations of the equations of the Helix spiral and Witten's index theorem, to see if they would support his current hypothesis about it. So far, they worked out. If he could be certain, he might be able to build a device that could detect someone Sliding into the general area, perhaps a few miles radius. This was one technology that could provide help to this world without troubling his conscience about the possible ramifications, and now it surprisingly felt good to be working on something to help them.

He did a quick check around the lab, and saw Pam standing up, getting her coat from her chair. "I take it you're leaving?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, smiling. "It's 16:30, I was going to go to the mess hall for an early dinner."

He nodded his head, and his stomach rumbled silently. He skipped lunch, and breakfast. He couldn't remember a Slide where he missed so many meals.

Pamela put her coat on. "If you want to come along, I sure wouldn't mind some company."

"I would love to," he replied, dropping his pencil and following her out.

\-------

Regional Parliament  
San Francisco Citystate, New Empire  
Saturday, 5:00pm

On the walk to the large pyramidal building which housed the all of the government offices in San Francisco, Quinn noticed the near complete absence of motorized transportation. Everyone seemed to either walk, or ride bicycles everywhere, whether on the street below, or on the maze of elevated walkways Commander King was leading him through.

Some of these walkways were designed as 'moving sidewalks', but even on these, most of the passengers walked to get through even faster. Some walkways had side paths set aside for those riding bikes.

The other thing Quinn noticed was the sheer number of people. Once out of the command center, he couldn't walk more than 100 feet without getting bumped by somebody. All the way, Commander King walked just a little bit ahead of him, and a little bit faster, almost parading him like a trophy to whoever was interested in seeing. Few were, in fact, and aside from a few curious stares amidst the apathy, he went largely unnoticed.

The government building itself seemed almost out of place with the rectangular skyscrapers towering around it, yet because of the area of its base, and the silvery lustre, it became much more impressive than any of them. The elevated walkway led into an arch, just a few floors below the apex of the pyramid, where the crowd began to thin out, and from there he was led into another room, one wall was entirely glass, making it feel much more spacious than it really was.

There was a table, in the shape of a semi-circle, in the center of the room. Each of the seven seats behind it was occupied. Quinn wasn't able to recognize any of the seven men.

Commander King led him to the center, and then suddenly grabbed the cord of his leash near his neck, and quickly jerked down hard, causing Quinn to fall on his hands.

"I am pleased to present to the Consul, and members of the board, the traitor, Quinn Mallory," he said.

"Leave us," said a man in the left-most seat.

Commander King protested, "But I..."

He was cut off. "Leave us now. You will receive your credit and reward in due time. Until then, these proceedings are to remain a secret. Leave us, so we may begin."

Commander King scowled angrily, obviously not getting the treatment he expected. He raised his wrist and pressed a code into it with his other hand. The ring around the commander's wrist loosened, and he removed it, but the one surrounding Quinn's neck remained in place.

Commander King walked quickly to the door, but was heard the same voice call him back. "Commander King..." it said. He stopped, but was unwilling to turn and face the speaker, as if employing a tiny and subtle act of defiance against him by keeping his face towards the door.

The voice continued anyway, "How goes the war effort?"

Though the man's tone didn't show it, Commander King was quite certain the question was meant to mock him, and this bothered him. Doubts began to spring into his mind. Were they planning to replace him, for failure to take San Francisco? Even despite his capture of Quinn Mallory? Or was it simply a warning? Whatever the case, he had to say something to reassure them. He cleared his throat, but still did not turn around, before begining to speak.

"My spies are making sure the technology to strike back does not fall into their hands. With the capture of Quinn Mallory, this has been made all the easier. We continue to...," He hesitated to use the word 'fail', "stalemate with direct offense, but that's a temporary situation."

"Really? Hasn't that been going on for, what, two years now?"

Commander King turned suddenly, enraged. "And it wouldn't be that way any longer if you'd give us the power to send in more units. You can't blame me for that!" He took a deep breath. "Right this moment I have our best men working on a project that will take San Francisco with minimal resistance."

The man nodded. "You are dismissed, Commander."

As soon as he was gone, the other men at the table grinned or chuckled. "Why do you take so much pleasure in taunting him?" asked one.

"Someone has to keep him on his toes. This, another simple takeover, and it still hasn't been completed after two years."

The man at the center seat, silent until this moment, raised his hand and said simply, "Gentlemen." The conversation immediately ceased.

The man who now spoke wore the same white uniform the others did, but stood out because of the thick gold chain and medal that rest around his neck. Quinn decided that this was the Consul, and was faintly surprised, because he almost expected it to be a double of the professor. The Consul was old, easily older than Professor Arturo. His hair was mostly white, but otherwise thick and full, and he had the build of an athlete. His voice was strong and demanding, even when he was almost whispering, "Let us begin."


	14. Chapter 14

Regional Parliament  
San Francisco Citystate, New Empire  
Saturday, 5:05pm

"Why did you defect?" one of them asked.

"I didn't," Quinn responded.

"You were working on developing interdimensional transport technology for the enemy, correct?"

"We were forced," he said. It wasn't quite a lie, they WERE forced. It didn't matter that he probably would have regardless.

"Forced?" another asked.

"When we arrived and they captured us, that was our only chance to get away."

"When were you captured?"

"About three days ago."

The man just to the left of the Consul asked, "And where had you been before your capture?"

Quinn took a breath, "On another world."

The Consul's eyes flared with momentary anger as the other men at the table exchanged confused glances.

"You mean you were hiding out here all this time?" one asked tentatively.

Quinn was about to speak, but the Consul raised his hand. "Halt, Mallory," he ordered. His eyes passed along the other members of the table. "I have need to talk to the prisoner alone, on a matter of imperial security, before we go any further." He said no more, just waited as the other six stood and filed out past Quinn and out of the room, without protest.

Even after they were gone, the Consul was silent for a long time. Quinn wondered momentarily if he was waiting for him to speak. "Answer the last question."

"I've never been to this world before."

The Consul nodded. "You are not native to this world, then?" Quinn shook his head. "Nor to the world of our enemies, I assume?"

"No."

"You should not mind me verifying this. Step towards the table for a moment." Quinn complied, and the Consul grabbed his left arm. He rolled up the sleeve and examined the skin there. There was nothing out of the ordinary, no scar where the Quinn he knew cut himself on some shattered glass. The Consul stepped back.

"Do you believe me now?" Quinn asked.

"This should never have happened," the Consul muttered, so low Quinn couldn't hear it. Louder, he said, "Your three companions, they are from your world also?" Quinn nodded, again. "We were told the chance of someone from another world... getting in the way, was negligible."

"So you knew, all along, about other worlds?" Quinn asked.

"Only the Emperor, the Consuls, and the chief scientists know. The plebeians, the media, even the senators do not know, with few exceptions. It's the empire's best kept secret."

"You're going to kill me then, to keep it from getting out? It won't work. Sooner or later, it'll get out," he bluffed, trying to keep his cool.

The Consul took on a disgusted look. "Mr. Mallory... Quinn, I have never killed anyone. I am a man of peace."

"Oh, is that why you started this war?" he said sarcastically.

"You know I had no say..." he stood quickly out of his seat, almost shouting and waving an accusing finger at Quinn. Stopping himself, he regained his composure and said, "I apologize. It's just that... in a fashion, we've had this conversation many times before." He sat back down. "This war was not my choice, in fact, I argued against it. However, the word of the Emperor is law. You... your counterpart on my world could never accept that I could only do my duty."

"How well did you know him?" Quinn asked.

"I adopted him, after his mother died. She was a family friend, and it was the least I could do for him."

Quinn wasn't sure what to say, so instead just asked, "So what are you going to do with me?"

"I am prepared to offer you a deal. I can get a message to one of our spies on the other side. Sending you back is out of the question, but I can order him to take your friends here. Once you're reunited, you can leave as soon as possible," the Consul suggested. Upon seeing Quinn's blank stare of consideration, he added softly and somewhat shamefully, "This is a private war, Quinn. There's no need for your people to be involved any more than they already are."

Quinn wasn't sure whether to feel lucky or not; coming to this world was part of their plan to continue on their journey, but after seeing the condition of the other world, despite the apparent decency of this man, the Consul, he couldn't help but feel he might be making something like a 'deal with the devil', if he agreed. The others would probably want him to make the deal, he knew that. Maybe not Wade, but the others, definitely.

"Why?" he asked suddenly, without any conscious decision.

"Why?" the Consul repeated. "Because the only other option would be to have you executed, and as I said, I am not a killer."

"No, I mean, why is this war even taking place?" Quinn asked. "I mean, if it's overpopulation, I'm sure with the infinite number of worlds out there, you could find one without any people."

The Consul thought for a long time. "I wish I had some noble answer for you," he began finally. "I wish I could say this war was over ideals, or that this was the only choice we had, but I can't. There are so many factors requiring us to expand into a new world. It's not just the people, but that's a large part of it. It's a matter of the best choice. Our scientists must have surveyed dozens of worlds before we settled on one. We looked at population, mineral resources, fossil fuels, pollution... everything we could think of. It came down to this, or one other world, a wild and undeveloped one. The Emperor made the final choice, on the fact that our new settlers could make use of the facilities already in place once the natives were 'disposed of'." He spat the last words out in disgust. "Are you willing to make the deal, or not?"

"Okay," Quinn said after some hesitation. Despite the many reservations he still had, it appeared the only way they could all get together and hopefully get through another slide.

"Good. I'll give Stillwell the order when he next reports in."

Quinn felt a rush of anger. So it was Dr. Stillwell who was the spy, the one keeping the scientists from reaching the discovery. He had probably tampered with the prototype too, and told this side where Quinn would be before they abducted him.

The Consul paid no attention to his reaction, but stood up and faced the window. "You'll have to be put in a holding cell for a short time. I must come up with an explanation for the other members of the board."

He turned back to Quinn, and reached under the table to feel a small button, which he pressed. Two guards entered a moment later. "Take the prisoner to a private holding cell," he ordered.

\-------

Mess Hall  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Saturday, 5:30pm

As Wade approached the food service, she was tired. Though she had been through much more strenuous experiences, she felt more tired now than before.

She was served her tray of food; dry looking meat of some sort (probably beef, but she couldn't be sure), some too-yellow mashed potatoes, a slice of bread and some shriveled carrots. The mess was busy, though not crowded, so there were many empty seats. Wade looked for one away from everyone else, and in the process noticed Professor Arturo. She walked towards him, the fact that he was not alone not fully registering.

Arturo was smiling when Wade arrived at the table. "Oh, hello Miss Wells," he said when he saw her. He gestured to the woman across from him as he introduced, "Miss Wells, this is Pamela North, she works at the research lab. Miss North... Pamela, this is Wade Wells, one of my fellow Sliders."

Wade nodded and said, "Hi."

"Pleased to meet you," Pamela said, smiling. Wade continued to stand, holding her tray, so she added, "We were just having dinner. Would you like to join us?"

Wade sat down, thanked Pamela, and began picking at her food.

"The Professor was just telling me about some of the worlds you've been to. Some of them sound fantastic."

"Some are... better than others," she said, pushing the carrots to one side of her plate.

Arturo gave her a soft look. "I know you're worried about them, Miss Wells... I am too. We must have faith in their abilities, because right now we can't do anything to help them."

"I know, but it's not just that. It's Hurley, and Quinn's mom, and this war, and everything. This is turning out to be one of the worst worlds we've been to," Wade said. She gave a glance to Pamela and added, "No offense."

"None taken. I'm sure I'd feel the same w..." Pamela began, but Wade cut her off.

"How did they know where Quinn was, anyway?" she asked to no one in particular. "I just can't believe it was all a lucky guess."

"Well... Sergeant Morgan thought when we first arrived that we might have been sent to blend in, and spy. At first I thought he was just being exceedingly paranoid, but his fears could well have been justified," Arturo suggested. "We made no secret of what we were doing. Anyone could have overheard where you were going, and alerted the other world."

Pamela shook her head, disbelieving. "I just can't believe anyone who lives with us, and sees how this war has been, could possibly be a traitor."

"If there is one, I'm going to find out who," Wade vowed. She got up, leaving her tray. "Excuse me, but I'm not really hungry."

\-------

Consul's Office  
San Francisco Citystate, New Empire  
Sunday, 8:15am

It had not been a good night for Quinn. Stuck in a cramped cell, with an uncomfortable bed, it took him hours to get to sleep, and then, sometime in the middle of the night, he was awakened by what sounded like an explosion, followed by sporadic sirens for the next hour.

At least it's private, he thought to himself many times over the course of the night.

Early in the morning, two guards escorted him wordlessly upstairs to the consul's office, and told him to wait. He sat there for five minutes, staring at his hands, before getting up and looking around.

A large bookcase was stacked along one wall, and it held his interest for some time. He scanned through the names on the spines of the book, searching for any interesting titles. There was a series of three history books. Volume One was "The Pre-Imperial World", Volume Two was "The Roman Empire", and Volume Three, "The New Empire". That explains a little about this world, he thought. With the sole exceptions of a few ancient Greek works such as Homer's Illiad and Oddessy, and Plato's Republic, none of the others had titles familiar to him. He should have expected as much; a world with such such a large difference probably wouldn't have much of the same literature.

"I've always been fond of the classics," someone said from behind Quinn, startling him. It was the Consul, but he hadn't heard him enter.

"Sorry, I was just looking," Quinn said, moving away.

"No need to apologize. Feel free to read any of them if you'd like," he offered as he walked towards Quinn. "I'll remove those shackles, they won't be necessary anymore." He pulled a key from his pocket, and unlocked the cuffs the guards had placed on Quinn on the way to the holding cell.

"Thanks. Classics, huh? I don't suppose your world has ever heard of Shakespeare," Quinn asked, slightly curious.

"Shakespeare? Oh yes, the great playwright is well-known. His plays based on famous historical events before and in the early years of the Empire are still taught and discussed to this day, to the dismay of frustrated students the world over. I always favoured his epic play 'Caesar'."

"You mean 'Julius Caesar', don't you?" Quinn asked.

The Consul shook his head. "No, just 'Caesar'." His tone changed, as he looked from his bookshelf back to Quinn. "I talked to the Emperor, and explained your situation. He's willing to go along with my deal. But there is a slight problem."

"What?"

"One of your friends apparently followed you through to this world."

Quinn was shocked. "What? Who?"

"I don't know why the centurions who captured you didn't notice. Stillwell reported in last night. On a secure frequency, I sent him a message outlining the arrangements, and in his next transmission, he informed me that one of your group, the one called Rembrandt, followed you through the portal. I ordered Dr. Stillwell not to approach your other friends until we have located him."

"Why not?" Quinn asked.

"Because I think we should wait until we can truthfully tell them that you're both all right, and being treated well. Now, do you have any idea where this Rembrandt... is that his first or last name?" the Consul asked suddenly.

"His first. His full name is Rembrandt Brown."

"Do you have any idea where he might have gone?"

Quinn thought. "Is there a Dominion Hotel in this city?"

The Consul shook his head. "I don't think so. There's a Domino Hotel, if that's the one you mean."

"It's worth a shot. Call up and ask if there's a Rembrandt Brown there."

The Consul did so, then hung up soon afterwards, shaking his head. "I can put the name through a search program, see if he was arrested or taken to the hospital. You'll have to excuse me while I do so, however." He walked out of the room.

\-------

Department of Human Resources  
San Francisco Citystate, New Empire  
Sunday, 10:30am

"Rembrandt Brown," a voice called out.

Rembrandt was not enjoying this Slide, not in the slightest. Stuck with about fifty other future slaves in a barren room with beds as the only furniture. He made small talk with the other prisoners, trying to get a feel of what to expect. Only two or three had ever gone through this before, and they didn't talk much, seemingly resigned to going through it all over again. Of the others, most, like Rembrandt, were dreading it, but a few actually seemed to be looking forward to it. That annoyed him. He tried for an hour to convince them slavery, in any form, was wrong, but to them, it was better than the streets.

The ankle bracelet was another thing. The guards had put it on too tight, and he found it difficult to sleep. What was worse was the thought that if couldn't think of a way out of this, he'd have to sleep like that for a whole year.

Now, hearing his voice, he was filled with dread. It was beginning. "Yeah?"

"You've just been sponsored." The man waved him towards the door. "Follow me."

Rembrandt shuffled over slowly. The man, too well dressed to be a guard, shouted in mild annoyance. "Hurry up! This guy spent a lot of money outbidding the competition for your sorry hide."

Rembrandt continued at the same pace. That certainly didn't make him feel any better about the situation. An expensive slave was still a slave.

He was led out of the building and on an elevated walkway, some four stories above the street. The man never even touched him, which surprised him. He supposed no one would bother trying to escape with the anklet on them.

There weren't many people on this particular walkway, but whether it was because of the time of day or the walkway itself, Rembrandt didn't know. He walked close to the edge, and glanced over. Beneath it, crossing perpendicularly, was another walkway. A few people on bicycles rode along the side of that one, and there were only a few more people walking there than where he was now.

"Don't you people have any cars in this world?" he wondered aloud.

"Cars?" the man asked in astonishment. "You're not one of those nuts suggesting we start with them again? If we hadn't stopped using them when we did, with all the extra pollution they spew into the air, people would be dropping like flies!"

"Well, I just thought..." Rembrandt began, but stopped when he heard three high tones. The man stopped, and looked up to near the top of a building. Rembrandt looked up with him, wondering what he was looking at.

The windows on the building he looked at, and several others throughout the city in fact, shimmered slightly, and formed an image. It resembled one of those images made up of several TVs, where each individual television showed only a small part of the picture.

The image was of a person. Rembrandt thought he recognized him as a newscaster in several of the worlds he'd been to. He stood in silence for a few seconds, then began speaking, "Information has come in on last night's explosion. Investigators have ruled the explosion a freak accident, caused by an overloaded transformer beneath the street. Sadly, it cost the lives of a cohort of centurion soldiers, returning from a successful campaign in the New World. A memorial is scheduled for tomorrow with full honors for the brave men who died tragically. Consul Antonius and Commander King are expected to make a public statement of their regret later in the day."

The image faded, replaced by a listing of names and ranks, the names of those who died in the explosion, before returning to plain windows once more.

"Caesar!" the man muttered, shaking his head sadly. Rembrandt wondered briefly if Christianity ever developed in this world. The man led on. "I'll tell you one thing, I'll be glad when our boys win San Francisco. I got a low number in the lottery. Once we clear it of the enemy, I should be moving over in the second or third wave of settlers."

"Don't you have a conscience? All those people you're killing needlessly..."

"What do you mean needlessly? It's a matter of survival. If we didn't do it to them, they'd do it to us."

"You've got to be kidding," Rembrandt said. He couldn't believe anyone would believe that.

"Aside from taking off into outer space, this other universe is the only place people can go. I'm just glad we figured it out before they did. We need the space."

"What about other universes?"

"Huh?" the man asked.

"Don't tell me. You believe there are only two, right?"

"Why shouldn't we?" Rembrandt began shaking his head, which must have irritated the man because he said, "Hey, listen buddy, I'm not the one stupid enough to be someone's lapdog for room and board, so don't be lecturing me on the way things are."

"You think I chose this?" Rembrandt asked incredulously.

"If you really wanted a job, you'd have looked, and not sat around begging for people's loose change. It's like..." the man struggled to find words, "it's like you were just wearing a sign asking to be sold off to the highest bidder. I have no respect for your type."

Rembrandt didn't feel like responding, so he just kept his mouth closed. They took a turn onto an adjoining walkway and continued in silence.


	15. Chapter 15

Underground Rec Room  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Sunday, 10:45am

When Arturo woke up, that morning, Wade was still asleep, and he decided to let her sleep. He went to the Mess Hall determined to get a good breakfast. What he found was runny eggs, dry strips of bacon, and almost burnt toast. He ate these silently grumbling to himself.

Next, he considered going to the Lab, but he didn't feel up to working, at least not at that moment, so he headed to the Rec Room.

It was Quinn and Rembrandt, that was what was bothering him. He was beginning to worry. With no word from them, and no idea what kind of world they had been taken to, he could only imagine. He tried to tell himself that they were probably okay, and just working on a way to get back to this world, but he knew this wasn't likely. The slide was just over three days away now, but that didn't matter. He and Wade would skip it if they didn't return in time. Besides, even if we miss it, he thought, in all likelihood it would only take another incursion to.... He stop in mid-thought, and pulled out the timer. The incursion alarm rang out in the middle of the previous night, waking him up from a very pleasant dream. At the time, he didn't think about checking the timer, but now it was better to know how long they had. It was ahead of the previous time by about three hours. Not a radical shift, but Arturo adjusted his watch alarm just the same.

The Rec Room was mostly empty, except one corner of it where some soldiers were plainly drunk. Some lay sprawled on the floor, others staggered around or tried to outdrink each other. One saw Arturo and raised his glass.

"Ah, someone else has come to join the party! Here, have a drink, celebrate!" he said, his speech slightly slurred.

"Celebrate?" Arturo asked, going over to the men so he could pour a drink from the open bottle lying on a table. He wouldn't consider himself an alcoholic, but he enjoyed drinking when the opportunity arose.

Besides, he thought, if any stress existed that merited an occasional indulgence of alcohol, it would be that of interdimensional travel. He smelled the liquid. Scotch, he thought.

"What are we celebrating?" he asked.

"We repelled an incursion last night. Twenty-five... no, fifty... fifty shock troops, and we drove them back. And as they were turning tail and running, we struck in a damn good blow back at them!"

He felt to one knee, fast, steadying himself with one hand, facing one of the sleeping men. "Charlie... hey, Charlie... tell the man what you did!" He smacked Charlie across the face. Charlie winced slightly and turned over. The man laughed giddily, "That's all right, you sleep, I'll tell him. Charlie here, he tossed a live grenade through their tunnel right after them, that's what he did!"

Arturo had a sudden image of the grenade going off in the middle of the void. If that happened, he wasn't sure what the result would be, but he thought it might make further sliding impossible, or destroy several universes at random. He gulped down his drink.

He knew from his own experience that the tunnel was quite bumpy, but still hoped the grenade made it to the other side intact.

If it didn't...

"Great Scott..." he muttered to himself.

\-------

Consul's Office  
San Francisco Citystate, New Empire  
Sunday, 11:30am

The Consul was busy at his desk preparing an official statement on the deaths of several 'centurions', so Quinn spent much of that morning in a chair reading. According to the history book, which he skimmed through quickly, over a century after the first Roman Empire fell, a great hero, who took on the name Romulus Caesar, managed to reunite it, in his image of the best of the old Roman ways. It was called the Novum Imperium, later accepted as the New Empire. Under his rule, and the rule of the later emperors, the New Empire grew to surpass even the old Roman Empire in glory. Conquerors arrived in North America several hundred years before Columbus was born, and by the present date, the New Empire controlled the entire world.

And, he assumed from what Hurley told him earlier, part of another one.

A hard knock at the door drew Quinn away from his reading. "Come in," the Consul said from his desk, without looking up.

The man who entered looked wrapped up in protocol, standing stiffly. It was difficult to judge whether it was because this was required, or simply because he was nervous at meeting the ruler of the entire citystate. Quinn almost expected him to salute, but all he did was say, "Consul Antonius. The servant you purchased has arrived, sir."

This was the first time that Quinn had heard the Consul's name. He never felt the need to introduce himself personally. Probably an oversight, given his relationship with Quinn's double of this world. Consul Antonius put his pen back in its holder, and looked up.

"Send him in, and be on your way. Get my secretary to pay you on the way out."

The man darted out, quickly, and in his place a second later appeared, proudly and defiantly holding his head up, Rembrandt Brown.

Upon seeing Quinn, he relaxed. "Q-Ball! Oh, man, am I ever glad to see you!"

"I'm sorry, have we met?" Quinn asked, trying to keep his face dead serious.

Rembrandt's grin faded suddenly, and Quinn couldn't keep his straight face up any longer and started grinning himself. Rembrandt sighed, "Damn! Don't do that to me, man!"

"Sorry, Cryin' Man. Couldn't resist," Quinn said, still grinning.

Rembrandt eyed the Consul warily as he said, "Well, what are we going to do? About Wade and the Professor."

"We have something in the works, I'll explain later. You all right, though? I heard you got arrested."

"Yeah. I'll tell you, their criminal justice system leaves a lot to be desired," he said. He shot a glance at the Consul, "Uh, no offense intended."

"None taken," Consul Antonius said, although it certainly looked as though he didn't agree with Rembrandt's assessment. "I don't expect you'd be used to our ways. If you'll excuse me, Quinn, I have to meet with some members of the media. The writ I gave you should allow you to move about without interference, but please do not leave the building without checking with me, all right?"

Quinn nodded, and the Consul left. Rembrandt waited a moment after the door closed, then asked, "So, who is that guy?"

"He's the Consul. He's the ruler of San Francisco. He also was apparently my double's adopted father."

"Was? So you're double's dead on this world then?"

"No... he ran away, no one's ever seen him in over a year. They think he went to the other world."

"Which is why they grabbed you?"

"Exactly."

"Okay, so, how did they know where you were going to be?"

"Dr. Stillwell is one of their spies."

"I always knew there was something up with that guy." In actual fact, he never suspected a thing, but he didn't feel like admitting it. "Okay, so what's this plan? We're going to hijack one of their sliding machines and get back to the others?"

"Not exactly," Quinn explained, "Dr. Stillwell's going to tell Wade and the Professor where we are, and send them to us until we can slide out of here. You okay with that?"

Rembrandt thought for a moment. "Yeah, sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

"After all we've seen back on that world, I thought..." Quinn began.

"Yeah, well, making the slide's the most important thing, right? We already missed our shot on the other world."

"I know. I just thought I should ask first. I hope the others agree with you," Quinn said.

"Well, the Professor has said it himself. You can't save every world you land on."

"True. He'll probably understand, but then there's Wade." After a few moments of silence, Quinn said, "So, you followed me through the portal?"

Rembrandt smiled, "Well, I couldn't let you have all the fun, could I?"

"Still... I appreciate it."

"Don't worry about it. So when do Wade and the Professor make it over here?"

"I don't know. Whenever Dr. Stillwell makes his next report, the Consul should give the order."

"So, we just wait then?" Rembrandt asked.

Quinn nodded.

\-------

Underground Lab  
San Francisco, UNAC  
Sunday, 11:45am

Wade opened the door to the lab. It still felt a little odd to be walking around without an armed escort and, especially after what happened to Quinn, she was jumpy.

The room was almost empty, except for a few people bunched in a group. "Any of you see Professor Arturo?" she asked.

They shook their heads.

"We just got here a few minutes ago. He could have been here earlier," one of the scientists offered.

Wade nodded absently, and went to where the Professor liked to work, to look for signs he had been there. She couldn't find any. All the notes were neatly stacked in a drawer, and the prototype timer lay with all its spare parts in a small box. He probably hadn't been here, she decided, or if he had, it was only for a short time.

She looked over some of the other devices scattered around the benches. "You guys any closer to getting this thing?" she called to the group working in the corner.

They paused, looking about one another before one answered, "Uh, not yet. Dr. Stillwell suggested we go back to trying to create our own interdimensional travel device."

"What?" Wade asked, "I thought Quinn said it was just a matter of finding the right combination of timers?"

"Dr. Stillwell... isn't entirely convinced this Quinn gave an accurate analysis. Given his disappearance, he strongly suggested we continue on the research we began without him."

"What?" Wade said again. They think he's a spy, she thought, but they're just trying to be polite about it. After all Quinn did for them, they're turning their back on him. "Where is Dr. Stillwell, anyway?"

The man speaking shrugged. "His office?" he guessed.

Wade went towards the end of the lab, to the door to Dr. Stillwell's office. She knocked three times.

A voice at the other side asked, "Who is it?"

"Wade Wells," she answered. She thought she heard sounds of something being put away hurriedly from the other side, but it might have been her imagination. After a few seconds, she did hear the door unlocking.

Dr. Stillwell stood in the now open doorway. "Yes, may I help you?"

"Can I have a word with you?"

Dr. Stillwell shrugged, and went to his chair, leaving Wade to follow him into the office. "Make it quick, I have things to do."

Wade stood, folding her arms over her chest. "I just heard you're ignoring Quinn's line of research."

Dr. Stillwell tried to look disinterested as he pressed his fingertips together. "Yes. Do you have a point?"

"Why? Quinn certainly knows what he's talking about better than any of you. He invented it."

"Yes, I know he apparently invented it. I just think it would be more... effective, if we concentrate on what we were working on before. I'm in charge of this operation, so I determine which projects are worth our time."

"Not worth your time?" Wade asked, angry. "Quinn's theories are the only chance you have. He and Rembrandt are stuck on who knows what kind of crazy world, and if we're going to have any hope of rescuing them..."

Dr. Stillwell interrupted, "Just be quiet and listen. Don't think that I don't empathize with your predicament. I do. Your friends are on the other world. I'm sure they're being treated well, and their situation doesn't change the fact that I AM in charge here, and my scientists work only on the projects *I* think are valid. I've reviewed the research, and I don't think it's valid."

"I could go to Sergeant Morgan," Wade threatened.

Dr. Stillwell smiled. "Go right ahead. He could care less now that 'Golden Boy' is gone." He stood up, and began ushering Wade towards the door.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have reports to make."


	16. Chapter 16

Consul's Office  
San Francisco Citystate, New Empire  
Sunday, 12:00pm

"I can't believe it... this whole world, under a single leadership," Rembrandt mused.

"I know. You'd think if the world were one big country, they wouldn't have any need for war. But this Emperor, whoever he is, seems bent on expanding the Empire even further."

Rembrandt nodded. "So, you think this Consul guy's on the up and up?"

Quinn shrugged. "He seems pretty decent so far. I'm not sure what reason he might have to betray us. It's not as if they can learn anything new from our timer."

"What about that? Do you think they might be able to help us get home?"

"I thought of that, but I wanted to wait until Wade and the Professor were here before I asked about it. I'm just guessing here, but I think they might only be able to target on to a world they've slid to before. It's probably best if we don't get our hopes up. Still, there's a chance."

Rembrandt nodded, and began examining a painting hanging on one of the walls. "Besides, I'm not sure I'd want to take the chance of them discovering how to get to our world. They might decide to invade it next. Is this what I think it is?" he asked, indicating the painting.

Quinn walked over to it and nodded. "I noticed that this morning." The painting depicted the opening to the void, floating in the middle of an elevated walkway. A group of intrepid soldiers stood before it, ready to enter. "It's a painting from one of the early expeditions to the other world, out of Athens."

Rembrandt exhaled sharply. "Makes you think though. Remember back when this all started, and we thought we made it back, and the Professor suggested we destroy the Sliding machine? Maybe he was right after all. I mean, look what it's done for this world. Not to mention the one we just came from."

"I'm sure our world would never do anything like... like this. This world isn't anything like ours."

"You're probably right. Still..." Rembrandt began, and Quinn thought he wasn't going to finish, but he did, saying, "there are a lot of worlds that would."

It was a few seconds later that they heard the three tones again, signaling another news broadcast. From the window in the office, they were only able to see half of the visual component played on the mirrored windows of a building, the other half obscured by another building. The sound, however, came through clearly. There must have been some sort of speaker in the room.

The newscaster said, "We take you now to Consul Antonius, speaking officially on the accident early this morning which claimed the lives of an entire unit of centurions."

"The newspeople in this world sure get right to the point," Rembrandt commented, as the scene on the windows switched. They could now see the Consul's face, or at least the left half of it.

He began to speak. "In times of war and peace alike, random and senseless deaths occur without warning. These men were of the few, the brave, the loyal, and they knew the possibility existed that they would die in the line of duty. That they were prepared doesn't lessen the tragedy of their deaths. They died on our own home soil, in an accident, a horrible accident which must never be repeated. Our best scientists have assured us that such an accident will likely never happen again, but despite this, I am drafting legislation that will require all city power transformers to be inspected much more frequently. In addition, though we realize it can never make up for their loss, the families of those who died will receive full benefits. We may only hope there won't be a next time." The Consul walked off to the side of the screen they couldn't see.

Quinn recognized the half face of Commander King move to take his place. His voice started lowly, almost remorseful. "There is little else I can say beyond an echo of our great Consul's words. We all mourn their deaths. If I could trade my life to save theirs, I would, but I can't. Because the past is immutable. It is constant. We can not bring them back." Commander King's voice began to rise in intensity, as he continued, "We can't keep asking ourselves, 'what did we do wrong?' We must ask only, 'what will we do next?' Throughout this war, I have been criticized because the analog to our citystate remains untaken. I've been called incompetent, among other things not quite so pleasant. Yes, the other Rome fell in just a few days. This city, this continent is not Rome. We lost the element of surprise, and we must make do. Our energy allowance is less than one half of theirs, and we must make do. We are restricted from invading from certain key strategic areas, and we must make do."

At this point Rembrandt whispered to Quinn, "Can you believe this guy? He's supposed to be mourning the people who died, and he's using the time to make a political statement!" He shook his head, annoyed.

Commander King continued, "I'm not here to complain about the decisions which caused this continuing stalemate. I'm here to tell you what you want to hear, that the stalemate will end. I know those of you with low lot numbers are eager to cross over to the New World... to see the wide stretches of open spaces, to breath the fresh air of a new frontier. You have waited for months upon months. Soon, very soon, your wait will be over."

His hand closed into a fist, as his voice began to rise. "Within one week, we will be ready to start what we are calling the Carthage Offensive. It is designed to cripple the enemy in a single blow. If, after one month, the first lucky citizens of this citystate are not crossing over to settle the New World, I solemnly vow, here, in front of the people of this citystate, I will resign my post without a second thought. Delenda est Carthago."

Commander King walked off.

"Delenda est Carthago?" Rembrandt asked, looking to Quinn.

"It means 'Carthage must be destroyed'. Before the last of the Punic Wars in ancient Rome, between Rome and Carthage, Cato the Censor ended every speech with that phrase," he answered, as if reciting from memory. He continued to stare out the window, even though the broadcast was over.

"Geez, Q-Ball, how do you know all this stuff?"

"I took an ancient history course. Also, it was mentioned in the history books in this world."

"Yeah, well, I'm starting to get a bad feeling about this deal, you know."

"You're not the only one."

\-------

Underground Rec Room  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Sunday, 12:36pm

Wade entered. Her appearance didn't show it, but she was still angry from what Dr. Stillwell said. She was even angrier, in fact. She spotted the Professor, sitting off in a corner with a bottle in his hand. "Here you are," she sighed.

"Ah, Miss Wells... you have found me at last, it seems. Is there nowhere I can hide," Arturo asked wistfully. "What can I do for you?"

"Did you know Dr. Stillwell's ordering all work on Quinn's theories of sliding stopped?"

Arturo's face went grim. "No, I had not heard."

"Now that he's gone, they probably think he was a spy more than ever."

Arturo looked as though in thought, but was really waiting for Wade to continue, to ask him to do something. When she didn't, he asked, in a slightly mocking tone of voice, "Well? What do you expect me to do? Go down there and argue with him? Put on boxing gloves and have it out with him mano a mano?" He snorted. "I don't see the good it'll do us."

Wade stared at him in shock, then realized he'd been drinking. He always seemed to get especially grumpy when he'd been drinking.

"You could try to continue his research by yourself. You probably know it better than anyone else here." When you're sober, at least, she added mentally.

"That's quite possibly the truth, but it's still not saying much."

"So?" Wade asked. "That's no excuse. You're Quinn and Rembrandt's only chance now. Meanwhile, you're wasting your time..."

Arturo cut her off. "Miss Wells, have you ever heard of the Eureka Principle?" he asked, irritated. Without waiting for a reply, he explained, "Sometimes, when you work and work on a particular problem, and you feel as though you're at a dead end, you have to take a break. While on the break, and not consciously thinking of the problem, the answer will occasionally come to you by itself."

Impatiently, Wade asked, "So, has it come to you yet?"

"No! Because I haven't had much of a break." He sighed, and his voice softened, becoming almost a plea. "Miss Wells, I have been working virtually non-stop since I was drafted against my will into their little science team. Is there anything I'm missing, that might help? Probably. I don't know! But I do know that staring at my notes for another six hours won't help."

"It can't hurt!"

He rubbed his reddened eyes. "Fine!" He said angrily. "I'll go back to the lab, and look for anything I may have missed. But if I don't find anything, I am going to sit down, have lunch, maybe take a nap and try to come at it fresh."

He stood up, wavering slightly be sure he had his balance, and went to the lab, Wade following close behind. He sat down at his place in the bench, retrieved his notes, and the box Quinn's prototype was in.

"Here we go," he said. He picked up a stack of paper. "My notes and equations. The math... impeccable, if you'd care to check it." He dropped them, causing one sheet of the paper to go flying off the table. He ignored it. Wade rolled her eyes as he grabbed the prototype. He opened the casing of it, and took a glance inside. "The device Quinn was working on..." he began, then stopped. "That can't be right..." he muttered to himself.

"What?"

"Some of the resistors are missing. They were here when I left last night, I know they were!" he insisted. Arturo continued looking into the device, prodding it. "And some of the circuit pathways have been severed!"

"You know what this means?"

Arturo nodded. "We don't have just a spy to contend with. It's a saboteur, as well."


	17. Chapter 17

Consul's Office  
San Francisco Citystate, New Empire  
Sunday, 12:45pm

Consul Antonius dreaded opening the door to his office. He assumed Quinn and his friend heard the announcement. It was virtually impossible to escape hearing the announcements, in fact, since the last Emperor deemed it important that the public keep informed about the news. Gathering a deep breath, he opened the door, and walked in.

Quinn looked up at him, eyes flaring. He'd seen that look before, on his own Quinn. "What can I say?" the Consul said somberly.

"What was all that about? This 'Carthage Offensive'?"

"I heard about it the moment you did. I took it up with him after we were off the air, but he went over my head, getting direct authorization from the Emperor himself."

"Can't you stop it?" Rembrandt asked.

"To even suggest such a thing would be tantamount to treason. I have no choice but to allow it to continue," the Consul said.

"What is it? Are they going to try to slide an atomic bomb?" Quinn asked.

"Nothing so brutish. Remember, they intend to resettle there, so they need the buildings intact, and the radiation would be deadly. It is a biological weapon, a bacteria that spreads quickly and will kill quickly and painlessly a few days after infection, and then die itself shortly thereafter. Our spies on the other side are to start returning immediately. Along with your other companions, of course." The Consul wasn't entirely lying, but he wasn't being exactly truthful either. He knew the bacteria would spread quickly and lie dormant, but he wasn't aware of the exact nature of the symptoms. The victims could lie writhing in agony for days, or die peacefully in their sleep.

"So you're just going to let everyone on the other world die?" Quinn asked.

"As much as it disgusts me, this is the way of war."

"What war? Looks more like a slaughter to me," Rembrandt offered.

The Consul had been preparing what to say next on the way home. It was similar to what he said to his own Quinn many times, in defense of his inaction against injustices.

He began, "I don't need your judgements, I do enough of that myself. No matter what you say, no matter what you think of me, I judge myself much worse. The fact remains that I swore an oath, to uphold everything the Empire stood for, and the Empire stands for what the Emperor says it stands for. My duty to the Empire and the Emperor is the most important. If I must, I will give up even my life to uphold that duty and that oath."

"You must find it very convenient to hide behind the excuse of 'I was only following orders.'" Quinn said pointedly.

The Consul winced inwardly. That was, almost word for word, what his own Quinn said to him during their last argument before he left. "If I didn't, the Emperor would just find someone who would. It's better I do it and spare that person the ethical dilemmas." That was another thing that helped the Consul with his peace of mind, the idea that he was being noble, making a hard sacrifice to spare someone else his pain.

He thought briefly of the small ulcer the doctors found in his stomach a few days ago, then looked Quinn straight in the eye and said, "You obviously don't understand me at all. Maybe it would be best if we didn't... interact with one another until you meet with your friends and depart."

Quinn nodded slightly, clenching his jaw. Rembrandt just watched from the side.

"I hope you won't be offended, but I'll be assigning guards to you. You'll be taken to a private room in the building. It will be comfortable, but you are not to leave."

He started for the door, and just before he left he added, "I... I wish it didn't have to be this way, Quinn."

\-------

Underground Lab  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Sunday, 12:50pm

"Do you have any more likely suspects, Professor?" Wade whispered. "He had the opportunity, and he's been against Quinn's work from the beginning."

"I just don't think we can go accuse a man based on the flimsiest of evidence. It could have been anyone in this lab, and probably many others. There's about as much evidence against Sergeant Morgan as there is against him!"

They were talking about Dr. Stillwell. Wade was convinced she had put all of the pieces together. Some of the things he said, some of the subtle expressions she saw on his face, she couldn't pinpoint anything before, but now....

"I'm not saying we go accuse him in front of everyone. We should just start with him. If I can get into his office, I'm sure I can find something," Wade insisted.

"Do you really think you'll be able to poke around without him noticing? Some of these people still think WE are spies, and that sort of behavior is not likely to help dispel that image."

"Look, just keep him busy. Discuss some of your theories with him, you scientist-types love to do that for hours on end." Arturo couldn't help but detect the slightly mocking tone in Wade's voice. "Meanwhile," she continued, "I'll sneak in and take a quick look around and be out before he notices."

"You can't be serious!" Looking at Wade's determined face, he knew that she was, however. "All right... but be as quick as you possibly can!"

Wade nodded, and watched as Professor Arturo went up and knocked on the door of Dr. Stillwell's office. The door opened a few seconds later, and Dr. Stillwell came out. They spoke for short time, seeming far too long to Wade, and then made their way to the bench the Professor was working on.

Wade, making a deliberate effort to look inconspicuous, slipped behind them and, very quickly, into Dr. Stillwell's office.

She first took a quick look through the papers on top of the desk. Nothing immediately caught her eye, and most were written in highly technical language she didn't really understand. Next, she opened the middle drawer, but finding only pens and a few other technical papers, closed it again. One by one, from the top to the bottom, she opened the drawers on the left side of the desk. She found nothing until the bottom drawer, where lying under a piece of cloth and a sheet of paper was a handgun. She closed the drawer quickly, her heart pounding.

Sure, the handgun proved nothing. Hurley himself said that most people had handguns, just in case. Still, to Wade it felt as though it were something concrete enough to her.

Wade moved on to the drawers on the right side, and opened up the top drawer. She didn't have much time. She pulled it back all the way, pulled things off in a hurry, then her eyes fell on black plastic. She pulled the box, which looked like the size of a walkman, but it wasn't like any she had seen before. Conscious only that it might be incriminating, and that she had to get out of there fast before something was discovered, she closed the drawer and stuffed the box under her jacket.

She slipped out through the door again, thankfully unseen by any of the scientists. Arturo was still talking to Stillwell, so Wade just made her way off to the side where Arturo could see her, and nodded slightly.

\-------

Secured Room, Federal Building  
San Francisco Citystate, New Empire  
Sunday, 1:30pm

"Locked up again..." Rembrandt mused, looking out the window.

"Look at the bright side... at least it's a nice cell this time," Quinn said.

"That doesn't make a huge difference, Q-Ball."

Quinn nodded. Though they had not tried to test it yet, they accepted that they were going to be confined to this room until the Slide. Guards were outside, ready to get any food, drink, or books they may want, but were sure to refuse if they asked to be allowed to leave.

"I really don't like this." Rembrandt said.

"I know. I'm not too fond of being locked up either."

"Well, that too, but that's not what I meant... I mean, you know how I am about interfering with another world. It's on a case by case basis sometimes, but usually I just think we should leave well enough alone. Every time we try to 'put things right', we get up to our elbows in trouble. But now... I don't know, I just don't feel right about leaving that last world to be slaughtered."

Quinn just looked at him as he continued, "That last world was pretty depressing, when you looked at how things were because of the war. But I'd still rather live there than here."

Quinn said, "I think I feel the same way."

Rembrandt turned to him, "So, what do you say we try to save it?"

"What? We'd have to find out where this secret weapon is, and that's IF we manage to get out of this room."

"Well, at least try to make our way back there, give them a warning of what's coming, maybe they can prepare. You know, put on Gas Masks, that sort of thing?"

"Well, we might be able to find a way back there. I saw those news reports make it very clear which areas are to be closed off for invading the other world, we could try to sneak across with them, but it would be risky. And we're still in here, remember?" 

"I'm sure if we put our heads together we can think of something."


	18. Chapter 18

Underground Barracks  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Sunday, 1:36pm

Arturo closed the door. "Well, what is it?" he asked breathlessly. "Did you find something?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," Wade said, pulling the box from inside her jacket.

Arturo's eyes widened. "You took that from his office?" he said in a mix of anger and astonishment. "You're going to get us both in a lot of trouble if he notices it missing!"

"But what is it, Professor?"

"I don't know. A pocket computer perhaps?" Arturo suggested, sparing the device only the slightest of glances.

"There's no monitor, so I don't think so. It was in the back of a drawer, so its either something he doesn't use very often, or something he doesn't want people to see."

Arturo looked at it. "Well, there's a number pad... a digital display... I'd guess it was this world's version of a calculator if I hadn't already seen they used ones much like ours."

Wade pointed. "Did you notice this?"

Arturo looked where Wade indicated. "A dial of some sort." He turned it experimentally. "Doesn't seem to do anything. Let me try one of these." He pressed one of the unmarked buttons, but nothing happened, so he tried another. The digital display lit up, reading 00:00.

Through a speaker, a quiet voice said, "Do not approach the other two until we have found the third. Repeat, do not approach the other two. My personal orders. Report back at your usual time."

Wade and Professor Arturo stared at each other. "That's still not very good proof," the Professor said.

"What more do you want? This guy's making reports!"

"Or he's listening to transmissions on some sort of clock radio. We're making assumptions here! Look, I would like to find an explanation as much as you, but you're on a crusade, forming a conclusion first, then twisting any evidence found until it supports it. That's the exact opposite of the scientific method, and I can't stand for it. What we are looking for is conclusive proof, not circumstantial evidence which can be taken a number of ways."

Wade pulled the box over to her, turning it over as if looking for something she missed. Her fingers fell on the dial, and she gave it a turn. A beam of light shot out of it, towards the Professor, but it stopped short of him, forming into a small, rippling, pancake-shaped spatial distortion. He started at it, seeing Wade's face through the rippling effect of the back side, while Wade looked into the vortex.

"Is that conclusive enough proof for you?" she asked, smiling smugly at the Professor.

\-------

Hallway, Federal Building  
San Francisco Citystate, New Empire  
Sunday, 3:00pm

Rembrandt adjusted the upper piece of his uniform, tucking it into the lower half. He glanced over to Quinn, who was just pulling the uniform top over his shirt, and smiled. "I can't believe those guards fell for that. That's oldest trick in the book. Doesn't this world get any TV besides the news?"

Quinn shrugged. "I just hope I didn't hurt that guard too much with that vase."

"I'm sure they'll both be fine as soon as they're found and untied. Don't worry about it. We still have to get this little tracking device off my foot, or they're going to be able to find us in a flash once they discover us missing."

Quinn nodded. "We'll work on that as soon as we get out of here. So, which way do we go?"

Rembrandt looked down both hallways and shrugged. "That's the $25,000 question, isn't it? I suppose one way's as good as another, unless you happen to know where we can find a map." Quinn shook his head, so Rembrandt gestured in one direction and said, "How about this way, then?"

"Lead on..."

They didn't know where they were going, and what was worse was that whenever they passed someone, they had to project the image that they knew exactly where they were going.

Thankfully, no one asked them for identification, pretty much keeping to their own business. Many of the people passed looked to be civil servants, although there were a few people dressed in similar uniforms as the ones Quinn and Rembrandt now wore.

They headed in a generally downward direction, for no real reason other than that the Consul's office was near the top and they didn't want to chance running into him. There was always the hope that they could make it out to the open street, where it would be safer, but getting back to the other world would remain a problem.

Somewhere on the third or fourth floor above ground level, Quinn heard Rembrandt behind him, whispering, "Hey, Q-Ball!" He turned to see Rembrandt staring at a door. Quinn read the sign, which said, "Research Labs".

Rembrandt asked, "Want to give it a try? Maybe we'll get lucky and find a timer?"

"Yeah, this is probably our best bet." He began to open the door, then stopped, a thought coming to him. "If anyone asks, we're new recruits, and we were told to get a new sliding device, okay?"

Rembrandt nodded, and followed Quinn through the door. The remarkable thing about the lab was that, except for the windows which highlighted the fact that it was situated above ground rather than beneath, the layout was strikingly similar to the one on the last world. They didn't recognize any of the scientists, and for the most part they were ignored.

From the office at the end, where Dr. Stillwell's office would have been in the Underground Lab, out walked a man they did recognize.

He looked up to the two of them, and asked, "Yes, may I help you?" Before Quinn or Rembrandt could answer their prepared story, the man's face showed plain astonishment. Apparently, they were recognized by him, too. "Good heavens... it can't be!!?"

\-------

Hallway, Underground Complex  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Sunday, 3:14pm

"Sergeant!" Arturo called out down the hall. Sergeant Morgan turned and walked steadily towards them. "We've been looking for you. They said you might have come this way," Arturo explained.

"What is it?" Sergeant Morgan asked irritably.

"We know how they knew where Quinn would be. We found out who the traitor was," Wade said excitedly. She pulled the paperback-sized box out of her jacket pocket, and showed it to him. "This is a very small sliding device. We think it works as a communications relay system."

The sergeant looked dubiously from the box to Wade. "Where did you get this?"

"We found it in Dr. Stillwell's desk. We also think he might have sabotaged Quinn's device, and probably all other research that was getting too close."

Sergeant Morgan grabbed the box out of Wade's hands. "This better be the truth. If I find out you've been lying..."

Wade interrupted him. "We're not lying."

At that moment, another shrill siren went off. "Good heavens, ANOTHER alarm?" Arturo asked. "What does THIS one mean?"

The sergeant looked pale. "It's a fire alarm." He grabbed the cellular phone at his waist and spoke into it, "This is Morgan, give me a location on that fire."

He nodded to the answer, then closed the phone and repeated to Wade and Arturo, "It's in the lab."

\-------

Research Labs  
San Francisco Citystate, New Empire  
Sunday, 3:17pm

Quinn nodded to the man, to Arturo. This wasn't their Arturo, of course, and he didn't seem to recognize Rembrandt, but it was an Arturo all the same. It was a few seconds before he noticed he was drawing some looks, attention which, at this point, was unwelcome.

The Arturo of that world must have noticed Quinn's nervous glances at the others in the lab, for he said, "We'll talk in my office."

They followed him into his office, where Arturo gave a wary glance at Rembrandt.

"Are you sure you want him here?" he asked Quinn.

"Anything you want to say to me can be said in front of him. I trust him... with my life."

"All right. How did you get back, my boy? And what are you doing in that uniform?"

"I had a change of plan..." Quinn ventured.

"Oh, come on Quinn," this Arturo complained, disappointed that his friend would try to lie, "I watched you jump through your gateway. You said the chances of returning were infinitesimal, that you'd rather take your chances on a random world than work for this military campaign of the Emperor's."

So, this Professor knows about other worlds too, Quinn thought to himself. "I need a sliding device to get me to the world we're invading."

"Don't tell me. You want to stop the Carthage Offensive?" Arturo said. "You and your overdeveloped sense of heroism is bound to get you killed one of these days."

Rembrandt interrupted, "We just have friends there we need to evacuate."

"Has the Emperor sanctioned this?" the Arturo asked.

"Absolutely," Quinn lied.

"Would you like me to ask him?" Quinn froze. "I didn't think so. I won't help you until I get the truth, Quinn. After all we've been through, you owe me at least that much." That was one noticeable difference between this Arturo and theirs. Their Arturo rarely called people by their first name, a trait Quinn found vaguely pretentious.

Quinn took a breath before he began with a line he had been saying far too much since he'd begun Sliding. At least lately, people were beginning to believe him. "I'm not your Quinn. I come from another Earth."

"I see."

"We got caught up in this war of yours accidentally, and we have friends on the other side."

"Certainly plausible."

"Look, Professor," Rembrandt entered, "I know the you I know is a good man. Even if you're going about with this crazy war of yours, you can't be different enough that you won't help us help our friends."

"You've met a counterpart of myself?" Arturo asked, sounding astonished.

"He's a good friend of ours," Rembrandt answered.

Arturo say back for a minute in his chair. "Well... I suppose it was inevitable," he sighed, then allowed himself a small smile. When he saw the puzzled looks on Quinn and Rembrandt's faces, he explained, "Up until now, although I had been aware of the likelyhood of other Arturos out there, I always allowed myself the belief that I might be unique, that one such as myself could have no counterpart. It was an egotistic belief, but I'm a scientist. They come with the job. This other Arturo, he is a scientist as well?"

"Yes," Quinn said. "He's a scientist. Although..." He stopped himself.

"Although what?"

"He'd have never participated in this war. He even suggested that, once we get home, we destroy the sliding machine, because of the potential for abuse."

"Yes..." Arturo said gruffly. "Potential you see realized here on this world, no doubt. I had the same concerns when Quinn first developed the technology here. But once we told the Emperor, we no longer had any choice in how it was used."

"But you're working for them," Rembrandt pointed out, "You have a choice in that, don't you?"

"In actual fact, I don't. There are perhaps three hundred or so people alive today around the world who know that there are more alternate worlds out there. All of them either work for the war effort now, or have a warrant out for their execution." His face was very grave. "So, you see, there was little else I could do."

"So that's why my double Slid?" Quinn asked.

Arturo nodded. "He wanted me to go with him, but I have a family here. I couldn't just abandon them, nor could I uproot their entire lives for my principles." He took off his glasses, and rubbed his eye slightly, as if to remove a tiny mote of dust. "So, you know my story. What about yours?"

"In a nutshell, I was experimenting with Sliding. I thought I had it under control, but because of events on the world we landed on, we can't get back. We've just been moving from world to world, trying to get home. A few days ago, we wound up on the world you've been invading, and one of the spies there..." Quinn began.

Arturo finished, "Thought you were this world's Quinn Mallory, and you were brought here. I must apologize for that... when Quinn left, I told the authorities that he had defected to that world, so no one would try to look for him on any of the others. So, you want to get back?"

"To rescue our friends, yes. Can you help us?" Quinn asked.

"I don't have any of the devices. Now that the military mass- produces them, they don't need the scientists to make them."

"So, what do you do here, then?" Rembrandt asked.

"Theoretical research. Environmental reclamation. We also have the dubious distinction of designing the more efficient weapons used in the war effort," Arturo explained, saddened.

"Like the biological warfare they're using in the Carthage Offensive?" Quinn asked, and his thoughts were confirmed by Arturo's nod.

"This lab had no direct part in it, but we laid the scientific groundwork."

"And you don't feel bad about that?" Quinn asked, incredulously.

"Of course I feel bad about it, Quinn. Do you think me to be some unfeeling brute?"

"I suppose you're just doing your duty," Quinn retorted angrily.

"I do what is best for my family. No more and no less."

"What about the people you're going to be slaughtering for them?"

"They have no chance anyway!" Arturo bellowed, "We're plainly superior. We're chipping away at them bit by bit. It's inevitable! They're dead already, what difference does it make if it happens sooner or later. The end result will be the same. If becoming a monster is the price I pay to keep my wife and daughter from being executed as the family of a traitor, then I'll pay it, gladly."

Rembrandt raised his hands to try to quiet the voices of the two, which were slowly gaining intensity. "Look. All we're asking for is for you to tell us where we can get one of those gizmos so we can get our friends off that world before D-Day."

Arturo shot him a glance, not recognizing the reference, but getting the general idea, "You realize that even telling you that would be putting my life, and the life of my family, in danger?"

"I think you still know what the right thing to do is," said Rembrandt simply.

Arturo paused for a long time. "There is another lab that the military runs, not far from here. It's probably your best chance of getting what you want. I'll show you how to get there, but wait until after dark."

Quinn nodded. "Thanks."

"Please, if you are captured, I told you nothing. You weren't even here, understood?"

"Perfectly. We were never here, right Rembrandt?" Rembrandt nodded his agreement.

Arturo grunted, and picked a map out of his desk and unfolded it. The sheer size of the Citystate astounded Quinn. In the Consul's office, he never thought to look at a map. It stretched up far, to past where Sacremento would be, to down near Fresno, and at the borders were other citystates. "Wrong map," he muttered, refolding it and pulling out another.

The second map was very confusing, more than the first, with lots of criss-crossing lines. This one only showed the immediate area with a much larger scale. He pointed to the pyramidal building and said, "This is where we are now." He pointed out a second building, this one circular. "This is where you want to be. If you can get past the guards at the front, you probably won't be questioned if you're wearing those uniforms. But keep your head down, or the other centurions might recognize you. It's on the third level, a few meters from the elevator. It's hard to miss."

Quinn nodded. "Thanks." He turned towards the door, but was stopped by Arturo's hand on his arm.

"And Quinn..." he began. "Don't try to warn them about what's going to happen. It will only cause them unnecessary pain and suffering, to know their fate and be unable to change it. If, by some miracle, they were able to destroy the weapon, it would only be a month, maybe two, before another one is ready."

Quinn said nothing, but shook his arm away from Arturo's hand. They left, and Arturo, making a show to the other scientists, followed behind, saying enthusiastically to Quinn. "Yes, yes. Tell Commander King I'll get on it personally, right this minute. He won't be disappointed."


	19. Chapter 19

Underground Lab  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Sunday Afternoon

When the fire was finally put out, there was no trace of Dr. Stillwell, and aside from some unrecognizeable melted plastic, no trace of a year and a half of fruitless research into Sliding, either. No one was killed in the fire, with the possible exception of Dr. Stillwell himself. Not many thought so, however. The fire wasn't strong enough to leave no evidence of a body. Some of the scientists said Stillwell dismissed them almost half an hour before the fire started.

There could be little room for doubt that Stillwell was, in fact, a spy, especially after the evidence Wade and Arturo found came to be known.

The word spread frighteningly fast, and everyone was talking about it in the next hours. Anger and shock at the betrayal by one of their own swept the base, and many didn't want to believe it despite the evidence.

An announcement was made throughout the complex that if anyone were to see Stillwell, it was vitally important that he be captured, preferably alive.

For their part, Wade and Arturo were invited to dinner by President Kelley that night.

\-------

Alleyway, Ground Level  
San Francisco Citystate, New Empire  
Sunday, 7:20pm

Things were not going well. They had a pretty easy time getting out of the building and onto the street, but waiting for it to get dark wasn't going to be easy.

Quinn managed to remove the anklet from Rembrandt's leg, by breaking the outer casing with a sharp rock (and almost bruising Rembrandt's ankle in the process) and cutting some of the wires until it fell off. When it did, it started glowing and beeping, so they tried to put as much distance between the anklet and them as possible. They saw police officers entering the alley where they removed it only seconds after they got out of sight. If no one was aware they escaped before that, they were certainly aware now.

Presently, they rested in a another small alley, nestled snugly between two buildings, and out of sight of the walking populace.

For good reason. Minutes after they removed Rembrandt's anklet, their faces were shown on video on the side of half the buildings in the immediate area. Rembrandt called it, "'America's Most Wanted' taken to extremes."

"So what are we going to do now, Q-ball?" he asked. "We can't just stay in the alley, or we'll be picked up by the homeless patrol, and we can't go on the street or we'll be recognized."

"I don't know. It's starting to get dark, maybe we can just lie low. There shouldn't be that many people."

"There'd better not be. Do you have any ideas how we're going to sneak into a military installation, when everyone within fifty miles knows to watch out for us? Not to mention the people going to execute me if they find me, because I removed the tracking device?"

"Oh, I'll think of something," Quinn said, sounding flippant.

"That's just great. We're in mortal danger, and he's making the plan up as he goes along. That's the last time I slide into a strange world just to rescue you."

"You know what I'm scared of?" Quinn asked. Without giving Rembrandt a chance to reply, he answered, "That maybe when we finally get back to the last world, Wade and the Professor will be here already."

"The way our luck's been going, I'd be surprised if they weren't."

\-------

Presidential Living Quarters  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Sunday, 7:30pm

A guard led Arturo and Wade into the Presidential Living Quarters. Other than the name and a slight increase in size, there was not much difference between this room and their own.

At a large, round table sat a familiar man in military fatigues. It was Ross J. Kelley, who in most worlds, by some cosmic coincidence, was usually a lawyer. Here, however, he was President. President of San Francisco, at least.

He stood up at the arrival of the two. "I'm glad you could make it. Please, sit down."

Sharing a glance at each other, Wade and Arturo sat down. Plates were set down in front of them; thick steaks. Arturo glanced up in surprised pleasure.

"One of the few perks left in being President," President Kelley explained. "We don't have very much livestock, so we try to rely on vegetables and a few preserved meats, but once in a while, I can treat myself. Eat up, I'm sure you're hungry."

"Thank you, sir. It looks delicious," Arturo said, beaming.

"Well, enjoy." He waved his hand towards his guards, who left the room without a word. Cutting a piece off from his meat, he continued, "I'm sure there's little doubt why I invited you here. You caught the traitor. We've known there was a spy in the complex for quite some time, but we didn't know who, and we couldn't afford to let paranoia take hold of our people."

"We're glad we could help," said Wade.

"That being said," Arturo added, "I'd suggest you don't let your guard down. Just because you've uncovered one traitor, doesn't mean there isn't another."

Kelley nodded. "I realize that. Fighting this kind of war is... well, it's very hard. Parallel Earths. Soldiers appearing from nowhere. Identical doubles. It could even happen that one day when I'm out, I get ambushed, and my double on that world becomes the new President of our army. It's a scary thought. The war could be over like that," he snapped his fingers for effect. "To be perfectly candid, I'm surprised we've lasted as long as we did." He paused briefly to take a bite, chew, and swallow, before continuing. "So, consider this meal an official, Presidential, thank-you for your help. Not only have you weeded out a traitor among us, but you've found the means to strike back."

Arturo looked up from his eating. "I beg your pardon?"

"That message relay is too small to fit any of our troops through, but it is a gateway to our enemies homeworld. We can strike back with grenades thrown into that gateway. A weapon for perfect surprise attacks, provided courtesy of the other side." The President began to grin. "That may not be enough, however, so, now I reveal my ulterior motive for inviting you here. We want you to be the next head of our research. You know the most on the process. We're going to have to start almost from scratch, but we can give you a temporary lab tomorrow."

"Well, I'm honored, but I..." Arturo began.

"But nothing. You have friends held prisoner on the other side, and we need better access to that world. Your first priority will be to increase the size of the gateway in that relay. The secondary priority will be to reproduce it. In return, as soon as we can send men through a gateway, we'll mount a rescue operation for your friends."

The Professor looked apprehensive, and glanced at Wade.

"It's the only thing to do, Professor," she said.

Arturo nodded. "I accept, with the understanding that this is merely a temporary arrangement."

"Agreed," President Kelley said. "Until we find your friends, you'll be in charge of our sciences."

\-------

Outside Command Control Tower Alpha  
San Francisco Citystate, New Empire  
Sunday, 8:04pm

It was beginning to get dark. Pedestrian traffic had begun to taper off slowly, and with some luck, Rembrandt and Quinn managed to make their way to their destination; a circular tower, towering above the nearby buildings.

"I thought this place looked familiar..." Quinn muttered.

"What, you've seen this tower before?" Rembrandt asked.

"It was where I was taken when I got to the world. That Commander King works on one of the higher floors."

Rembrandt pointed to the four guards at the only visible gate. "It's going to be hard getting past those guards."

"I know... Let me think." Almost a minute passed as Quinn thought. "We need a distraction," he said finally, staring out at the guards.

"You had to THINK to figure out we needed a distraction?" Rembrandt asked sarcastically.

"I have an idea..." Quinn began.

As if on cue, a loud explosion went off to the east of the tower. That wasn't Quinn's idea, but it would suffice. They couldn't see the blast, but from the sound it must have been big. The guards ran from their posts in the direction of the blast. Quinn thought again at how stupid these guards seemed. Their entry to the tower was virtually guaranteed. He started moving forward, but Rembrandt tapped him on the shoulder. "How'd you do that!?"

Quinn smiled. He didn't, of course, and he had no idea what happened. "I told you I'd think of something," he said to Rembrandt, and, hunched over, they scuttled across the street through the gate.

Once inside the building, they ducked into the elevator as another pair of centurions drew towards their position. Quinn and Rembrandt were probably too far away from the centurions to be identified as anything other than another pair of their own, and they pressed the button for level 3, to be sure they would not get close enough to be recognized.

The elevator whizzed upwards and, in short order, arrived at the third floor, and opened on a hallway. Directly on the other side was a door, and no identifying labels. As no other doors were immediately visible, Quinn assumed this was the one the alternate Arturo told them about, and tried the knob. It was locked. He took a few steps back, and gave it a sharp running kick, and it buckled but did not break.

Rembrandt took a try next, kicking hard at the door. A crack was heard. They pushed together, and broke the door open. Somewhat surprisingly, no alarms went off, but they knew there might have been a silent alarm, so they moved quickly.

The room was dark when they entered, but light from the hallway allowed them to see enough to get around. Quinn waved to one half of the large room. "You search that side," he whispered.

Searching quickly through the cabinets on his side, Quinn finally struck gold. One cabinet at the end contained devices similar to the ones he had been working on in the other world's lab. There was one difference; they were in groups of two or three, connected by a band carrying a number. Quinn grabbed a group of two and called Rembrandt from the other side of the room.

"Get over here, Q-Ball... you have to take a look at this!" he heard Rembrandt call in response.

Quinn went quickly to Rembrandt, who was staring at something along the wall. "What?"

Rembrandt pointed to a large, metal chest. On the top of it was written, in bold red paint, "Caution: BioHazard", "Infectious Agents Inside", and "Do Not Open".

"Is this what I think it is?" Rembrandt asked.

"It could be... but there's no way to be sure."

"It has to be. The Professor of this world must not be such a bad guy after all. He led us right to their secret weapon..."

"Unbelievable," Quinn muttered. "Still, what do we do with it? We don't have any idea how to safely destroy these things."

Rembrandt looked at the box. "Take it with us, then," he suggested. "We should be able to slide it into the gateway. We can figure out what to do with it once we're on the other side."

Quinn considered this silently; there was always the chance that the box might break open during the slide; they'd had some rough landings before. If it did, all would be lost. Still, at the moment, there didn't seem to be much other choice. He broke apart the band that connected the two devices, and tossed one of them to Rembrandt. "Okay, on the count of three, turn the knob. One... two... three."

A beam of light shot out of each device, and joined at a point on the floor. The familiar vortex swirled into existence. Quinn and Rembrandt each grabbed one end of the chest and slid it over the vortex's mouth, where it vanished in a flash of light. Quinn and Rembrandt jumped through next, before it closed behind them.


	20. Chapter 20

Oak Street  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Sunday, 8:10pm

Rembrandt tumbled out of the wormhole before Quinn, landing on his feet, and managed to gain his balance. Quinn fell out of it a few seconds after, and, with Rembrandt's help, also managed to remain standing.

"Was it my imagination, or was this slide different?" Quinn asked.

"Yeah, I noticed it when I went in after you. It's a lot slower. Maybe they've refined the process a bit."

"The chest!" Quinn said, suddenly, looking around. It rested peacefully a few meters behind them. He ran to it, to examine the exterior. "Everything seems okay. The locks are still..." he struggled to find the word.

"Locked?" Rembrandt offered, smiling.

Quinn just stared at him. "We'd better take off our clothes," he said.

Rembrandt looked at him, shocked. "What!?"

"We're wearing enemy uniforms. If they see us, they might shoot first and ask questions later," he explained as he began unbuttoning the top.

Rembrandt followed suit. "Do you think we should yell for help or something? Maybe one of the patrols will hear us and be able to get us a lift. I don't relish the thought of just the two of us carrying that chest all the way back to the lab."

"Good idea," Quinn agreed. He called out, "Hey!" at the top of his lungs, causing eerie echoes. "Can you give us some help?" There was no immediate answer, so Quinn bent down in front of the chest and told Rembrandt, "Sorry, Rembrandt. You take the other side."

"Wait, Q-Ball... do you even know which way we're supposed to go?" Rembrandt asked uncertainly.

Quinn looked about. "No. But we should try to get out of the area, in case someone from the other world decides to follow us."

As Rembrandt bent his knees to hold his side of the chest, he stopped. "Do you hear that?" he asked. Quinn did. It was a car, coming towards them. Some thirty seconds later, they saw the headlights of a grey-green jeep. It stopped about forty feet short of them, its headlights shining in their eyes.

"Halt!"

"We need to speak to Sergeant Morgan immediately!" Quinn said, putting his hands up. "We just escaped from the other side and we have information... information vital to the security of this world."

On a whispered command, a soldier hopped out of the passenger seat and patted down Quinn and Rembrandt for any weapons. In the process, he got a close look at Rembrandt's face. "Hey," he said, "you're that guy who did the concert a few nights ago!"

Rembrandt smiled. He loved being recognized. "Yeah, that's right. Were you there?"

Instead of answering, the soldier took the sliding device out of Rembrandt's hand, turned to the jeep and shouted, "No weapons." He grabbed the other device out of Quinn's hands. "I'll have to take these as a precaution."

"We're going to need them to show Sergeant Morgan. Don't separate them," Quinn warned, believing that the two timers were their only hope of continuing on their journey.

The soldier pointed to the chest. "What's this?"

"Oh, you're going to be thanking us for this some day," Rembrandt said. "This is part of a secret weapon they were going to unleash on you guys. We stole it so you could destroy it."

The soldier gave a look that said, 'is that so?', and said, "Lift it up and put it in the back of the jeep."

As soon as it was on board, they got in and were on their way.

\-------

Underground Barracks  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Sunday, 9:06pm

Wade sat reading a magazine, yet not really reading it. It was more like she was looking at the words and letting her mind wander. She thought about Quinn and Rembrandt, trying to imagine what the other world must be like. She thought about Quinn's mother, having to deal with losing her son twice, and she thought about Hurley. He would probably be more coherent now, so she made a mental note to visit him again tomorrow. She thought about home. Wade thought about home a lot on every slide. She supposed they all did.

Arturo meanwhile, was asleep, even though the lights were on, and had just recently begun snoring. She'd not known Arturo to snore before, and the low, rythmic drone was getting on her nerves. Finally, she tossed her magazine at him, which woke him up.

He pushed himself to a sitting position with surprising speed. "What? Is something going on?" he asked, startled. Instinctively, he grabbed for the timer in his coat pocket.

"You were snoring. I couldn't hear myself think, so I woke you up."

"Miss Wells, I NEVER snore," Arturo cried indignantly.

"How would you know?" Wade asked in a smark-alecky voice, a smirk on her face, "You were asleep."

As the timer was in his hand, he spared it a glance. "What time is it?" he asked, then checked his own watch.

"A little after nine," Wade answered anyway, "Why?"

"According to the timer, the window has now moved up to tomorrow afternoon. Another tunnel must have opened somewhere. Did you hear any incursion alarms?" he asked. Wade shook her head.

"With all of the sliding going on in this world, I'm surprised our timer hasn't died on us again," he grumbled to himself.

"Relax, Professor," Wade said. "You said it yourself, on this more than any other world, if we miss the slide, it's not a life sentence for us."

"True, but it makes me nervous, nonetheless. Quite possibly, moments before we finally can slide, there'll be another 'incursion',  
and we'll miss it, and the next date will be pushed back weeks, months, or even years."

"Don't worry. We'll be out of here before you know it, Professor. With Quinn and Rembrandt."

Arturo was starting to have doubts about that, as well. In the pit of his stomach, he had the strongest feeling that Quinn and Rembrandt had been executed as a matter of course, or more likely, killed trying to escape. Trying his best to ignore this feeling, he nodded anyway, to convince Wade he, too, believed everything would be okay.

For a moment, he considered leaving without them, then pushed that idea to the back of his mind. They would wait, for as long as necessary, until Quinn and Rembrandt were either back, or confirmed dead.

\-------

Debriefing Room  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Sunday, 9:15pm

Quinn and Rembrandt were led in and told to sit down, in two chairs at the center of the room. Behind them, two soldiers carried the metal chest in, and laid it on the floor, then stood at the sides. The cramped room was devoid of furniture except the two chairs. On one wall hung a blackboard, and some posted notices, most of which looked like patrol schedules. In a corner, a video camera was set up on a tripod, with a cassette recorder right beside it.

Five, maybe ten minutes after they were seated, Sergeant Morgan arrived. The soldiers handed him the two sliding devices they took from Quinn and Rembrandt and left the room. Sergeant Morgan flipped on both the cassette recorder and the video camera, turned to them, and said, "Welcome back."

Quinn and Rembrandt exchanged uneasy glances. The Sergeant was waiting for them to speak. Quinn spoke first, "First of all, you should arrest Doctor Stillwell as soon as possible. On the other side, we heard that he was a spy."

Sergeant Morgan nodded. "We know, we discovered that just recently for ourselves. How did you get back here?"

Rembrandt answered, "We used those gizmos there in your hand."

"They're a matched pair. If you use them together, you should be able to open a portal back," Quinn added, enthusiastically.

Sergeant Morgan stared at the devices for quite a while. "What's in the chest?" he asked next.

"It's dangerous. We think it's a biological weapon they were planning to use on you, but we don't know how it works. You have to destroy it, but be extremely careful with it," Quinn explained.

"Biological weapon?" Sergeant Morgan asked. Quinn was about to speak, but Sergeant Morgan cut him off, "I know what a biological weapon is, thank you, I mean what kind? An infectious disease?"

"Something like that, but we're not sure. From what we do know, they might be able to make another one as early as a month from now," warned Quinn.

"Look, Sergeant, do you mind, we've had a rough few days, and we'd like to see our friends," Rembrandt asked.

"That can wait," the Sergeant answered curtly. "You're the first two friendlies we've had a chance to question about the other side, you need to be debriefed. You were there a little over a day. It should only take about half that to get the important details." Sergeant Morgan began to pace around the chairs. "Now, tell me, when you first arrived on the other world..."


	21. Chapter 21

Underground Barracks  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Monday, 12:45am

Wade squinted groggily as she began to wake. It was a hand that woke her, someone had shaken her shoulder lightly. "Wade..." a voice whispered. The voice was familiar, very familiar. She heard a click as a lamp was turned on, and after the disorientation passed a second later, she saw who it was. Rembrandt was staring down at her.

Wade bolted upright. "Rembrandt!?" she asked excitedly. She put her arms around him and gave him a hug. Her voice must have been relatively loud, for she heard the Professor begin to wake up himself. She looked over Rembrandt's shoulder, and saw Quinn standing by the light. "Quinn!"

"I told you I'd bring him back, sweetheart," Rembrandt said, smiling, as he pulled away to let Wade get up and hug Quinn.

By this time the Professor stood up, astonished. "My word..." he exclaimed, "Can it be?"

"Oh, it be, Professor," Rembrandt said, turning to face him. "Sorry we didn't have time to pick up any souvenirs for you guys. Then again," he continued, "we can always pick some up when we go back to make the slide."

"You can go back?" the Professor asked.

"We managed to steal a pair of devices. Sergeant Morgan has them now, but he's agreed to let us cross over to make the slide," Quinn explained. The Professor laughed, and Wade had to keep from snickering. "What?"

"We don't NEED to cross over," Wade exclaimed.

"You want to run that by me again?" Rembrandt asked.

"All of the sliding in and out of this world has made the world a little erratic. It does not follow the pattern laid out in our original equations we made when rebuilding the timer. With every incursion, we've had a different window of opportunity appear. If all goes well, we leave tomorrow," said the Professor, dramatically brandishing the display of the timer to Quinn and Rembrandt.

"Unbelievable," Quinn remarked.

"So, Mr. Mallory, Mr. Brown, are you going to tell us what happened to you on the other side, or will we have to drag it out of you?"

Although they were already tired of telling it from Sergeant Morgan's debriefing session, they went over their experiences again, from what they had learned of about the world's history, which greatly interested Arturo, to the Consul, Commander King, and Arturo's double, to breaking into the military lab and stealing their secret weapon. From Sergeant Morgan they had learned a few more details, the most notable being that the explosion that provided the diversion they needed to get into the Control Tower was a grenade sent from this side, one of many that were sent over that night.

Next, Wade and Arturo filled them in on what had been happening to them in the same timeframe. Sometime during this story, Rembrandt layed down on his bed.

When it was over, Quinn smiled and said, "Looks like you guys had some fun, too."

Rembrandt made no comment, so Wade tossed a pillow at him. He gave no reaction. He was already asleep. Quinn gave an apologetic shrug, and said, "It's been a long day."

Arturo nodded, and began to lay back down himself. "No doubt. Let's get some rest. We may need it for the next slide."

\-------

Infirmary  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Monday, 11:32am

"Wade!" Hurley called happily, as he saw her head poke through the privacy curtain. He was sitting up in bed, a food tray over his legs. On it sat a plate of runny eggs and some remnants of sausages he had already eaten.

"I wanted to make sure you were awake. How are you?"

"I'm fine now. Still pretty sore on the shoulder, though."

Wade stepped all the way in. She wore the same thing she wore when he first saw her, a greyish coat over jeans. "I've got someone who you might want to see."

"Oh?" Hurley asked, curious.

Rembrandt came through the curtain, wearing his leather jacket. "Hey, Mike..."

Hurley stared in shock. "Ho... How..." he began, then restarted. "You're back!?"

"In the flesh," Rembrandt said, grinning. "Q-Ball's back, too. Come on in," he called back out.

They were joined by Quinn and the Professor. Quinn went up to Hurley's bed. "Good to hear you're all right, Michael. Heard you took a bullet trying to save me."

"It was nothing," Hurley said modestly, "I was just doing my duty."

"Still, I have to thank you. Besides, if you didn't get shot, Wade would have probably jumped in after me, and who knows what trouble she would have gotten into there."

Wade hit him lightly. "Oh, look who's talking. You were captured with barely a fight, and Rembrandt was arrested for vagrancy in his first hour there."

Quinn grinned. Arturo coughed. "While I hate to break this up, and believe me, I, too, am glad you're well Mr. Hurley," he began, continuing as he turned to Quinn, "We should leave now if you want to make it back to your doubles house before we slide. That is, if you still want to stop by there first."

Quinn nodded.

"The slide?" asked Hurley.

"We have to leave this afternoon," Wade told him.

"Oh," was all Hurley said. It was just his luck, when he finally met a few people who would consider him a friend, and didn't act like he was beneath their notice, they had to leave. "Good luck," he added.

The group thanked him, and began to shuffle out. Rembrandt stayed a little longer than the rest. "I've got a little gift for you," he said, as he pulled a manilla envelope from his jacket, and dropped it on the tray, beside Hurley's plate.

Arturo's voice boomed from outside, "Come on, Mr. Brown."

"I have to go. Take care, Hurley," he said, waving, and dashed off.

When he was gone, Hurley reached over and opened the envelope. Inside was a single glossy photograph, of Rembrandt on stage. It wasn't the performance he gave in the Gymnasium, and in the picture he was wearing a sparkling red suit. In black ink, Rembrandt signed at the bottom corner, "To Mike Hurley, my greatest pal on this world," and signed it, "Rembrandt `Cryin' Man` Brown."

Hurley couldn't help but smile.

\-------

Quinn's House  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Monday, 1:47pm

Quinn rapped gently on the door, and listened for the sound of the latches being undone, before the door opened. There, once again, stood his mother holding a gun. His double's mother, to be precise. The image still disturbed him, though.

She put it down quickly, tears in her eyes, and hugged him. "Quinn! I saw them take you... I thought I'd lost you again," she said happily.

"I know, Mom... but I escaped. I'm going to be all right, okay?" Quinn said.

"Okay," she said, pulling back to face him, and beaming brightly. "Do you want to come in? I can make some..." she paused a bit, taking a mental inventory of what she had left. "Some soup," she finished finally. "You like chicken noodle, right?"

"Yeah, I like it, but I can't stay."

"No? Why not?"

Quinn looked out to the sidewalk in front of the house, where the other three were standing, watching him. "We have to go."

"Go?" Mrs. Mallory repeated.

"We have to Slide. Remember, I told you we came from another world?" She nodded. "Our only chance to leave is coming up very soon. We have to go, it's our only chance to ever get home."

She nodded again, weakly, trying to smile. He kissed her cheek again, and noticed another tear falling. "You just take care of yourself, Quinn," she said.

"I will, Mom. I just wanted to let you know, I'm all right. You know me... wherever I'm going, I'll probably have a blast." Quinn turned and walked back to the group. "How long?" he asked.

"Twenty-five seconds," Arturo announced. They waited, and when the time came, Arturo activated the timer in front of them. The air ahead of him opened up into a swirling tunnel of blue-white light. "After you, Mr. Brown," Arturo offered. Rembrandt jumped in, and vanished in a flash of light, and Arturo muttered, "Good. This time maybe he won't hit my backside during the Slide." Wade jumped through next, grinning at the professor's comment, and Arturo looked to Quinn.

"Go ahead, Professor." Arturo jumped through the tunnel. Quinn looked back to his double's house, and saw his mother still standing in the doorway. He gave a wave, smiling, and dived in.

\-------

EPILOGUE  
Outside of Quinn's House  
San Francisco, CA, USA  
Monday, 1:55pm

Quinn pushed himself off the grass, and took a glance around. Wade and Rembrandt were already up. "Boy, am I glad to be away from those worlds," Rembrandt remarked to himself.

The Professor was just getting to his feet, rubbing his back and groaning. "Sorry Professor," Quinn said with an apologetic shrug, but his face wore a slight smirk.

"I swear, one of these days, we are going to Slide, and I am going to get a chance to kick both of you, and mark my words, I will take it," he said, looking between Quinn and Rembrandt. "You deserve to get a taste of what you keep giving me."

"Hey, ease up, Professor, we don't do it on purpose," Rembrandt said.

"That may well be, Mr. Brown, but I WILL do it on purpose."

"How long are we here?" Wade asked.

The Professor looked at the timer. "A few days. This isn't home, though. Look, no roads." There was a sidewalk, even traffic lights and a curb, but where roads should have been, there was only grass. He glanced back at the house behind them. It didn't look like Quinn's house on their earth. It had a garage, but no paved surface leading up to it. He took a glance around the block in wonder. Behind a fence, he saw a the top of a car.

"They do seem to have cars, however. No tire tracks. This doesn't make any sense, how do they drive?" he asked.

As if to answer that, a car turned a corner and drove past them. The grass beneath it shook and was blown down by the powerful blast of air that lifted and propelled the vehicle from each of four corners on the bottom. After it passed, the grass returned to its previous position, as though undisturbed by the everyday occurrence.

"Unbelievable," Quinn said, watching the hovercar drive into the distance.

"It would appear that this world is more technologically advanced than our own," Arturo mused.

"Let's get to the Dominion," Wade suggested.

Arturo nodded. "Good idea. We can plan our next move from there."

"Yeah. Besides," Rembrandt chuckled, "if this is what the cars are like, I can't WAIT to see the hotels."

\-------

New Research Lab  
San Francisco, CA, UNAC  
Some Time Later

General Morgan walked in with a crisp, new uniform. "What have you got to report to me today?" he asked Dr. North.

"Based on the notes and equations left by Quinn Mallory and Professor Arturo, I think we can create our own interdimensional device, independent of the other world, and not only that, but an early warning system against any incursions," she reported.

"Good. What about the other project?" he asked.

"The Bioscientists are being very careful, we still don't know much about the contents if they ever got out. But they said to tell you, if we wanted to release it, they could probably arrange a method to deliver it."

General Morgan nodded, satisfied. "Excellent. Tell them to prepare it. That secret weapon could be our salvation."

"Our method of vengeance, you mean?" Dr. North asked.

General Morgan paused at that. "Would you rather we were naive enough to destroy it?"

"To tell you the truth, I almost wish we did. It's far too dangerous. It could backfire so easily."

"We're being as careful as we can, under the circumstances. At any rate, it's a..." he searched for the words, "a bargaining chip, in our favor."

\-------

High Courthouse  
San Francisco Citystate, New Empire  
Some Time Later

"Maximillian P. Arturo, you have been charged with high treason, aiding the escape of an enemy spy, and delivering secrets into the hands of an enemy power. The punishment for this crime is death. Do you have a defense?"

"Yes, your honor," Arturo said weakly. He was guilty, he knew that, already regretted his foolish actions brought on by a too-strong conscience.

His one solace was that he foresaw this early enough to get his wife and daughter safely to a secure world. If he was to be executed, he would at least hang alone. Were the impossible to happen, if he were released, or managed to escape, he might even be able to join them.

The High Magistrate stared at him. "Begin."

Arturo stood, his heart beating rapidly. He thought mirthlessly, 'Maybe I'll have a heart attack before they manage to kill me, that will serve them right', and cleared his throat. "There is something the public deserves to know about this war," he began. I've done it, Arturo thought, I've crossed the Rubicon. They warned me of this, before the trial began. What I say here ensures I will die, one way or another, and perhaps for naught if the media is told to cover the events up.

He thought a brief goodbye to his wife and daughter, and made a mental prayer for them, and began his speech.

\-------

THE END


End file.
